Just a short bit of watersports erotica about Spike and Jet from Cowboy Bebop. Feel free to send comments to ChubbySpaceCowboy@gmail.com! Cowboy Bebop
Session Break // What Do You Taste Like?
By Chubby Space Cowboy
"I think it's time we blow this scene. Get everyone and the stuff together. Okay: three, two, one. Let's jam."
-From "Tank!" by The Seatbelts
"`What do you taste like?' That's how we lost twelve million woolongs?" Jet shakes a cigarette out of his pack, chuckling.
"What? It was sexy. It was--" Spike's eyes stay unfocused on the empty spot on the bar before him. "Meaningful."
Jet can't hold back a hefty bark of a laugh. "I think you've still got some of her poison running through your veins."
"And she was good with her mouth." Spike rubs his left leg. There's an empty whiskey tumbler in front of him, on the bar next to the ashtray. The drink was not his first. Or his fourth. The leg is looking better.
"Yeah, until she bit you." The woman, a mark wanted for bleeding men dry--metaphorically, that is. She had a reputation for poisoning recently divorced upper middle-management types and taking all of their woolongs.
"Heh." Jet sets a cigarette between his lips and lights it. "You've fallen for dumber reasons than that." He pulls smoke into his lungs, a mix of tobacco and weed. He tries not to think of all the confusion, the tightness in his chest, as Spike has pursued his "dumb reasons."
Jet takes the cigarette from his lips and offers it to Spike. Spike gives Jet a look that he can't quite figure out, but hell, when could he ever figure out what the skinny pipsqueak was thinking. A cross between a dare and a white flag, maybe. Jet leans a little forward and slips the cigarette into Spike's lips for him.
Spike smiles, the cigarette waving like a conductor's wand as he does. He inhales, holds the smoke and his eye contact with Jet, then exhales. He raises his empty glass toward the bartender, asking for another round.
"Here's to meaningful questions and dumber reasons," Spike says as the bartender refills his glass. He grunts when he moves his leg, but he's trying to hide that it's hurting him. Turns out, the woman was some sort of techno-vampire. Had syringes of poison in her teeth that could paralyze the surrounding muscles. Took a big bite out of Spike's leg before he knew what hit him, and disappeared when she realized he didn't have jack shit in the way of money.
Spike's real dumb mistake was taking his pants off in the first place.
Jet lights himself a cigarette.
"I'm gonna hit the head before we leave. You need me to help you piss before we go? I could hold it,--you. I could hold you up if you're too weak." Jet's drunker than he realized. He tries to play it off as a joke, failing to ignore the way his cock thickened at the thought. "You know, since you can barely stand."
"I just want to take a shower." Spike waved him away, his cigarette smoke drawing lines in the air. His eyes were lost in the bar again. "I'll be fine until we get back," he said, tipping his glass back to drink his newly-arrived refill in one gulp.
-- // -- // --
"I have to piss." They are not back at the Bebop yet. They aren't even very far out the door, frankly. Spike is hanging onto Jet for balance.
"Spike," Jet stops. His arm--the flesh one, the one that can feel--is around Spike's back, Spike's arm wrapped over Jet's shoulder. "I just asked you three minutes ago."
"I guess it all rushed down after I stood up."
"Well, let's go back. No sense in you crying all the way home."
"No," Spike says, stopping. He nods at the alleyway ahead. "Just help me get over there."
Jet rolls his eyes, but complies. Spike keeps his weight on Jet as they make their way to the alley just past the bar. It's going to be a long walk home at this speed, Jet thinks.
The space between the bar and the building next door--a small bodega where you could always find good smokes--is narrow. Spike shifts his weight from Jet so Jet stops. There's a dumpster halfway down the alley. Spike doesn't bother to hide behind it, though. He limps just barely out of the light from the nearby streetlamp, leans a hand against the wall, and sighs.
He takes a few breaths before pulling his zipper down. He reaches through the fly, and pulls out his cock.
It's not the first time that Jet has seen Spike's penis. There was that mission back on Ganymede where Jet had to come rescue Spike from a rooftop, naked as the day he was born. Still won't tell Jet what happened there. Then there was Spike's general cavaliernous, which saw him drop his towel more than once around the ship. Or piss somewhere awkwardly.
Jet chuckles to himself. He pulls a cigarette from the pack in his chest pocket. He tucks it between his lips, but before he can light it he hears Spike grunt and stumble.
"You okay?" Jet steps forward, ready to help. Help him do what exactly?
Spike clenches his teeth, pain spiking up his leg. "I'm fine. I just need to--" He shifts his weight more, bracing his arm against the wall, stepping back into the pool of street light. The light cuts starkly across his body, only his upper torso and head remaining in the dark. His head drops to rest on his forearm.
Jet sparks his lighter but stops short of lighting his cigarette because Spike is pissing and Jet can't even breathe. First a few drops that fall to the ground, then an immediate and strong stream. Spike breathes out, letting his head fall back, and Jet can see his entire body relaxing. Jet doesn't think about averting his eyes. He can't think about anything.
It doesn't make sense. He shouldn't be this, well, this. He shouldn't be frozen, his body floating in space. He shouldn't be this captivated and enamored by the sight of his partner, his friend, pissing in an alleyway.
He wants to stay here forever, but he wants to get closer. Wants to fall to his knees, crawl to Spike. Spike's too drunk to care if anyone sees him, but Jet wants to be up close. Close enough to engrave every detail into his brain. Wants to see every curve and line of Spike's cock. How it lays against his fingers, how his thumb keeps his dick pointed at the wall in front of him.
As an entire post-mission "debrief" bar tab pours out of Spike's cock, Jet realizes that what he wants is to taste it. Yes, he wants to feel it on him, on his hands, on his body, but even more he wants feel it on his tongue. Wants to swallow it. Okay,Jet admits to himself, maybe this isn't the first time I've had a boner thinking about guys pissing. But I've never wanted to drink it before.
Now it feels like the most natural thirst in the world.
Spike's urine flows for both an eternity and for far too brief a moment. Jet's heart feels like it does when he's dodging bullets in the sky. Spike's piss cascades down the brick wall, a growing puddle swelling near his feet. It's a long piss even by post-mission standards. It's hard to think someone as skinny as Spike could have stored this much piss inside of him. As the puddle spreads, a trickle leaks away, running over the uneven asphalt, sliding its way in Jet's direction. Not that he's close enough for it to get on him, but just the idea of Spike's piss getting closer to him is enough to make his heart beat even harder, like the BeBop's engine begging the ship to go faster.
A tiny sound of want escapes his throat. If Spike noticed, he doesn't say anything.
Spike's stream starts to weaken and then break up, a few last splashing to the ground as Spike pulls lightly at his cock. He shakes it. Jet's knees threaten to give out.
As Spike tucks his cock away, he looks at Jet and says "Are you going to light that?"
"Huh?" Jet's eyes focus away from Spike's crotch to the unlit cigarette sticking out of his mouth. "Sorry, guess I must have spaced out." He lights it and pulls smoke into his lungs, a head rush long-delayed.
"Looks like you're ready to get home." Spike gestures to Jet's obvious erection straining against his coveralls. Jet blushes so heavily, he wonders how there could be enough blood in his body to manage both his embarrassment and his arousal. His skin is slick where the head of his cock is held against his hip, his cock leaking precum like a fuel injector. "Need to take care of that thing or you might pass out."
"Fuck you," Jet says, raising one hand to his neck in embarrassment. "It's not like I got it from w-w-watching-- I'm just lost in my thoughts."
"No worries, big guy. Happens to everyone. I just need you to focus and get me home."
"How romantic."
With that they resume their comfortable ritual, picking at one another and sometimes telling old war stories or bragging about things that probably did happen, but probably didn't happen like that. All the while, they stumble home. Mostly Jet holds up Spike, but sometimes Spike holds up Jet. They smoke cigarettes. Jet tries not to think about Spike pissing but he can't think about anything else.
Finally they see her, the Bebop, their beautiful baby. It towered over the nearby ships in the bay, mostly single-passenger jets and a row of ferries at rest. The bay was mostly quiet, just the far away sound of someone making late-night repairs, much like Jet might do when he gets back just to clear his head of thoughts like the one where he wraps his mouth around Spike's cock and feels his mouth filling with the space cowboy's warm piss.
Jet shakes his head, only to see Spike offering him a cigarette. This is one of their languages. He lets Spike place it between his lips and tries not to think about the wetness left behind on the filter, wetness from Spike's lips as he had lit it.
They walk the rest of the way back in silence, just as familiar as the bickering and bounty hunts. They climb onto the Bebop, also strangely silent. It feels like Jet's heart is beating so loudly that it must be echoing through the halls. Absent the rumbling engine, Faye's loud voice, Ed's maniacal laughter, the Bebop only rings with their steps on the grated walkways.
"I have to piss again already. Jesus." Jet helps Spike to his quarters. He wants to watch Spike again, but there's no way he could play that off. What could he possibly say to explain that desire to Spike? Spike moves toward the head in his bunk, Jet stops at his front door. Everything in his body is driving him to step forward, to follow Spike into the bathroom. Everything except his brain, and the cost of what he could lose if he freaks Spike out, makes Spike run away. He wouldn't be the first person to run away from Jet.
Spike looks back at Jet before disappearing into the bathroom. "Thanks for the help getting home."
"Sure thing."
Spike holds Jet's gaze, until Jet can't stand it. There's so much he needs to express to Spike and there's so much booze and weed and nicotine in his system. "Hey, Spike?"
"C'mon, old man, I need to piss."
"Spike," Jet's breath hitches. It's now or never, old man. He forces himself to hold Spike's gaze and asks "What do you taste like?"
The End