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In the Interest of Accuracy

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It's been a long ass week.

The port is way too small for a hundred odd Ravagers, but somehow, they manage. The strip leading to the port, riddled with shops, is surprisingly quiet. The path closest to where they docked holds a bar, a club and a whorehouse.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out where the majority of their scummy bunch flocks to.

He isn't in the mood for crowds tonight, which was probably why he's taken himself down the other end of the main street, to the small bar near the housing district.

The residents of the town aren't stupid. They know when a Ravager ship comes in, they should disappear right quick, into their homes and out of the line of fire.

Kraglin is right to pick this bar. It's practically deserted excepting a few regulars dusted about, there's a rowdy bunch of knuckleheads near the dart boards, but he ignores them. He orders a beer, picks a table and plonks himself down.

He takes a swig, looking around. There's some pool tables in the corner, memories crowd his mind.

Winning money off friends, getting drunk - not a care in the world - and laughing.

Honestly Kraglin can't remember the last time he laughed.

He finishes the beer morosely, wondering briefly if he should get another, perhaps something stronger.

Drinking alone, reliving old memories of when shit was simple - easy - was a fast track to a hellish hangover and he doesn't need that, not anymore.

He really hadn't anticipated how difficult the whole first mate thing was going to be.

Still it wasn't all that bad, Yondu is pretty cool all things considered.

As if thinking about the man conjured him, Yondu appears through the door, just as Kraglin is about to get up and leave.

His eyes scan the bar, quick and calculating, searching for - whatever it was Yondu searched for - enemies, he supposed, but he never really knew. His eyes land on Kraglin - frozen, about to get up. He blinks once, dirty fingernail picking his teeth and sets off for the bar.

Kraglin watches as Yondu turns, bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers, and heads towards the pool tables. He racks up a game, places the bottle down on the edge and turns to Kraglin with a raised brow.

It's a classic Yondu invitation.

Take it or leave it.

Kraglin takes it, sliding off his chair and wandering over to the table. Yondu hands him the cue, digs a couple of glasses, a bottle of coke and a lime out of his endless pockets and puts them down with the whiskey.

Kraglin snorts, shaking his head and leaning the cue on the table. He splashes the whiskey and coke in the glasses and pulls the knife from the sheath on his shoulder, slicing two slivers from the lime and dropping them in the glasses as Yondu takes his first shot.

They play the entire first game without a word. Kraglin likes that about them - the fact they can just go through the day without speaking but still communicate.

Yondu smirks happily as he wins by a landslide, leans back on his heels and raises a brow, silently asking if Kraglin wants another game. He gives him a nod as he pours them another round, Yondu racks up the balls and points the cue at them.

Kraglin moves around the table, passing a drink off to the captain as he leans down to take the first shot. The balls clack loudly in the silence and he straightens back up, mind going over the different angles Yondu could take.

Instead of moving in for the next shot, Yondu swills the liquid in his glass, fingering the cue thoughtfully. "Wha's up?" He asks, rough drawl finally breaking the silence.

Kraglin's eyes shoot up to his and he shrugs, looking away, "This first mate gig is harder than I thought it was gon' be. Just worried I ain't livin' up ta expectations, I guess."

"Who's?" Yondu asks, taking his shot. The ball skitters across the felt, sinking two in quick succession.

"Yours, I s'pose."

"Bah." Yondu replies, taking a swig from his tumbler, "Yer doin' fine Krags."

They continue playing in silence, Yondu’s waxing him again. He stares at the table, he feels like the crew don’t respect him, feels like they just follow his orders because Yondu would skewer them otherwise.  He can’t help but feel like Yondu’s just saying it to be nice – then again, the Centaurian didn’t do nice.

"Yeah?" He mutters breaking the silence and picking up the conversation again like Yondu had just spoken rather than the last words being traded twenty minutes ago. He’s leaning over as he does it, taking his next shot, "Don't much feel like it sometimes."

"Tell me 'bout it." Yondu grumbles, coming around the table to have his turn. He leans over, knocking the white with more force than necessary, he botches the shot leaving Kraglin wide open for a win. His brows pull together sharply. "Shit." He shrugs, giving the taller man a grin. "'S a thankless job what we do."

Kraglin eyes him thoughtfully. Yondu's strange like that, manic almost, flicking from one emotion to another in the blink of an eye. It leaves him reeling some days.

Suddenly the man's grin turns leery and he runs his tongue over his teeth, "You gon' kiss me again?"

Kraglin balks, inhaling his drink and choking roughly. He hears Yondu chuckle between heaves of air. "Again?" He manages after a moment, internally cursing the squeak in his voice.

"'S right." The Centaurian replies, he points to the table, "Yer shot."

Kraglin's eyes narrow, "I call bullshit Cap, ain't no way. Yer just tryin'ta throw me off ma game."

Yondu's brows arch, and he leans on the nearby wall, pressing a foot against it, "Whatever ya'll gotta tell yerself Krags."

He rolls his eyes, leaning over the table to line up his win. He slides the cue back in his palm, the thought tickles his mind and he picks at it like a sore, "Ya reckon I snogged ya?" He asks, cursing his own curiosity.

"I dun reckon ya did, I know ya did."

"When?" He replies, straightening, game forgotten.

"Last month. We got rat-shit drunk after a job, played cards, stumbled back at tha officer's deck, ya shoved me against a wall, told me I were purty, then stuck yer tongue down ma throat."

Kraglin stared at him. Sure, they'd gotten drunk together many times, he'd woken up in odd places with no memory of how he'd ended up there, feeling like a mule had kicked him in the teeth.

The idea was - plausible.

But Yondu never would have let that slide. There was just no way.

He smirked, "Nice try Cap, cute story."

"'S true, ya blabbered on 'bout how ya wanted me since we first met. How me runnin' a mutineer through made ya hard as a rock, then ya passed clean out wit'chur hand in ma pants."

Kraglin paled. He'd never told anyone that. Then the rest of the sentence filters through Kraglin's conscious and he feels his jaw drop, "Wit' ma -"

"Hand down ma pants, yeah. Were about ta have yerself a good ol' grope, 'fore ya zonked out." There's a mischievous look on Yondu's face, like he's enjoying the hell out of this conversation. There's a long pause, filled with tension, as Kraglin tries to gauge whether the whole thing is legit. "Yer shot Krags."


Yondu nods at the table, "We's playin' pool, 'member? 'S yer turn."

Kraglin blinks, eyes darting over the table, he could win this if he sorts his head out. He can feel his heart in his chest, thumping against his ribcage, suddenly it's really hot and he can feel sweat forming on the back of his neck.

Slowly, Kraglin leans the cue against the table and unzips his jumpsuit. He pulls his arms out of the leather, feeling it stick to his damp skin. Yondu watches, as he yanks a t-shirt out of his back pocket and pulls it over his head, tying the arms of his leathers around his thin hips.

He picks up the cue again and eyes the table, he can see Yondu in his peripheral vision, one thumb hooked into a belt loop, the other hand holding his drink. The look on his face says it all - smug.

Kraglin is filled with confidence then, the man is full of shit. The tale of the kiss is just that - a tale. Yondu's trying to win, throw him off and make him unsteady.

He leans over the table again, eyes flicking up, lips quirking, "Yer an underhanded prick Cap." There's good humour in the tone. Yondu knows he's not really pissed.

"Who me?" The Centaurian replies, face the picture of innocence, which Kraglin knows is a farce.

"I'mma win this game. Yer lil' bullshit story ain't gon' throw me off."

"Really?" Yondu says dryly. His tone immediately sets Kraglin on edge. "Ya willin' ta bet on it?"

He straightens again, backing up a step. "Nuh-uh. I ain't bettin' ya."

Yondu gives him that cheeky grin, a fang hooking over his lip, "Why not? Yer so sure yer gon' win an' all. Fifty units says ya ain't."

Kraglin has the money, he can feel it burning a hole in his pocket, still, he shakes his head adamantly, "Not a chance Cap, I ain't bettin' ya."

The grin gets Cheshire Cat like, and the Centaurian slumps into the wall. It's impossibly alluring and Kraglin feels himself swallow with a click. "Afraid I'll distract ya?" His drawl drops into a husky purr, as he licks his cracked lips.

He knows anything he'll say now will sound croaky and wrecked, he clears his throat, even that sounds unsteady, damnit.

A triumphant smirk crosses Yondu's face, "Wuss."

"I seen tha shit ya'll do ta win, Cap."

Both brows shoot up, "Like what?"

"Tons o' stupid stuff." He replies, attempting to wrestle his libido into submission. "'Member tha’ one time ya held tha tip o' ya arrow while it were active?" He swipes up his drink and drains it, putting the tumbler back on the edge of the pool table. "Ya did that fer a hundrit units."

Yondu shrugs, "I knew I could handle it. It were only ten seconds."

"It was on fire Cap."

The Centaurian chuckles in that devilish way that sent a zing down his spine at the best of times. "I won but. 'Sides, I been through worse."

Kraglin raises an eyebrow skeptically, "Ya were so fuckin' drunk ya could barely count, I mean, if ya wanted 'is money so bad ya could'a just run 'im through."

Yondu shrugs pushing himself off the wall and putting his empty glass down, "If I did that we would'a got thrown out tha damn bar - an' we was havin' fun."

It's all bullshit and bravado. Yondu threatens and people obey. That's the way it works. Kraglin wonders, as he has many times, if Yondu could get drunk enough to render the yaka arrow useless.

He stares at the pool table. It's a complicated shot, he can probably pull it off, if Yondu would just stop staring at him like he wants to spread him out on the nearest surface and do wonderfully terrible things to him. "Fifty units?" He questions, not taking his eyes off the brightly coloured balls.

"I stutter?" Yondu says, refilling their glasses with the flourish of a seasoned drinker.

Kraglin nods, "Fuck it. Yer on." He leans over the table again, calculating the angle one last time.

Yondu copies his movement right in his line of sight, hands dangling over the edge of the table, fingernails brushing the felt. "Complicated shot." He comments mildly.

Kraglin looks up, the overhead lighting glinting off his irises, "I c'n make it if ya shut yer gob."

The Centaurian laughs and makes a 'go on then' gesture with his hands. Kraglin lines up the cue, sliding it back in his calloused hands.

"Ya c'n do some creative things wit' yer tongue. I'll give ya that."

The white hits the wrong ball, skitters across the table, Kraglin thumps his fist on the worn timber edging with a curse. He eyes the game critically, it'll be an easy win for Yondu.

The man in question swaggers around the table, Kraglin's eyes narrow and he shoulders the man - not rough enough to start a brawl, but enough to let him know he's pissed - "Ya sonuvabitch."

Yondu just chuckles, bending over the table to take his shot. Kraglin glares at his back, he's half cut, horny and about to lose fifty units to his underhanded prick of a captain.

Well if Yondu thinks he can fucking cheat, Kraglin can too. He's behind the man in one stride, draping his lithe body over the Centaurian's back and pressing his erection into the base of the older man's spine, he purrs in the pointed ear, "Ya think that's creative, ya should see what I c'n do wit' yer dick."

The cue tears the felt, snaps in half and sends the ball bouncing across the polished concrete floor. Kraglin freezes, the split-second decision sinking in. The fission of pleasure skittering down his spine at the pressure between their bodies, isn't making his thoughts any clearer.

He swallows heavily, Yondu hasn't moved. Kraglin is trying to calculate how fast he'd have to be running in order for the arrow not to impale him, then realises with a shot of adrenaline thumping through his veins that it would be utterly impossible to outrun it.

Finally Yondu moves, bracing both hands on the table and pushing upwards. It's not enough pressure to shove Kraglin off though, just enough to stand, increasing the pressure on Kraglin's dick rather fantastically. It punches the air out of his lungs.

Yondu turns, boxed in by Kraglin’s long arms.  He looks up at him through those ludicrously thick lashes and all Kraglin wants to do right now is bend him over the table and fuck him stupid. He stands frozen, the scenarios flashing through his mind like subliminal image torture. He feels Yondu hook his fingers through the loops on his jumpsuit that hold his blaster holster.

“Ya owe me fifty units.” He blurts out in a breathless tone.

Yondu blinks, swallows once and smirks, “Ya cheated.”

Kraglin lips quirk, “So did you.”

The Centaurian eyes him almost suspiciously, “That were pretty good.  Didn’t think ya had it in ya.”

The overhead lights glint off the silver teeth in Kraglin’s mouth, “Who says I was bullshitin’?”

Kraglin feels a little zing down his spine as Yondu’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly.

Suddenly he’s had enough of this farce, the tension is so high he can taste it and a sick little part of him wants to see what Yondu will do. He grabs the shorter man by the lapels of his coat and kisses him soundly.

His lips are cracked, but strangely soft and he tastes of lime and whiskey. Kraglin feels the exact moment Yondu recovers from the shock, a full-bodied shiver followed by the clank and whisper of belts and zippers as the shorter man pulls him flush.

Yondu's tongue invades his mouth and he loses his nerve, pulling back and staring wide-eyed at his captain.

The Centaurian licks his lips, Kraglin's eyes follow the movement raptly. Yondu's face holds some kind of emotion he can't quite fathom before slipping back into a mask of cool indifference, "Ya never really kissed me, ya know. I was just pushin' yer buttons."

Kraglin's jaw works as he closes his eyes. He feels a mix of horror, embarrassment and shame. He goes to step back, to get the fuck out of here and drown himself in the half empty bottle of rum in his cabin. By morning, everyone will know and what little respect the crew did have for him will be gone.

He can't though, Yondu's holding fast to his belt loops, he looks down in confusion, looking Yondu in the eyes for a split second before they slide to the side in embarrassment.

"Were pretty good," the Centaurian continues, voice dropping to a husk, "ya didn't stick yer hand down ma pants tho', in tha interest o' accuracy an' all."

Kraglin's eyes widen and shoot back to Yondu's. There's humour, affection and want in them and suddenly his lips take on a mind of their own, neck craning down to capture navy ones.

His hands lift from the edges of the pool table, where he braced himself after the first mind melting kiss, sliding into Yondu's coat and pulling him closer, he feels a hardness against his thigh realising with a start, it's Yondu's dick and - oh fuck - it's as hard as his own.

He groans into the shorter man's mouth, fingers pulling the shirt from his pants and wriggling dexterously into his leathers, "Somement like this Cap?" He murmurs into his mouth.

His fingers brush the tip of Yondu's cock and he feels the shudder all the way to his toes, "Yeah." Yondu husks back.

Kraglin's hands switch their mission, wriggling around to grip handfuls of the man's ass. Yondu seems to have deemed at this point he isn't going to bolt and releases his choke hold on the taller man's belt loops, nimble fingers crawl over his hips and under his shirt, tracing random patterns up his spine.

Yondu's hands feel like they're a thousand degrees, burning brands into his pale skin that naturally runs cooler than most space faring species, it's intoxicating in a way he wasn't aware was possible. Yondu's hands dip below his waistline and Kraglin realises, very suddenly, this is all about to get very explicit and they are in a bar, very public bar.

He steps back, pulling away from those lips and that tongue and those fantastic fucking fingers. Yondu gives him a puzzled look.

"Your place or mine?" He blurts, then curses himself out internally. It's becoming increasingly obvious that this entire situation is making him forget how not to be a total dork.

Yondu's lips quirk, like he's trying to fight off a laugh, "We live next ta each other."

Kraglin gives a little chuckle, shrugging sheepishly.

"It's down at tha dock, through piles o' drunk crew, an' if ya think 'm walkin' that far wit' ma dick burnin' a hole through ma leathers yer fuckin' wrong."

Kraglin knows he's right, even if they made it all the way to the ship, they wouldn't make it passed the crew without being stopped at least a dozen times.

His eyes flit around the room, landing on the bathrooms. It's not exactly comfortable, but whatever. Yondu follows his eyes then looks at him, raising a brow. Kraglin tips his head and shrugs. He's tipsy, horny as hell and fuck it - when was he going to get a chance like this again?

Maybe never.

They head towards the men’s silently. It’s casual like they hadn’t just been about to defile the pool table moments ago.  There’s one drunk in there, swaying as he pisses in the urinal.  Yondu sighs impatiently as they wait for him to leave, tapping his foot and making Kraglin roll his eyes. Once he stumbles out, Yondu unloops his arrow holster from his thigh and threads it through the door handle and around a hand rail.  He pulls it tight and tests the door, before turning to Kraglin.

They stand staring at each other.

This is the most unappealing place to have sex Kraglin can think of.  It’s disgusting, smells of vomit, piss – possibly worse if he took a deep breath – and that faint smell of cleaning products, like someone has attempted to rid the room of that biohazard feeling but then given it up as a lost cause.

The fluorescents are hideously bright, making Kraglin squint.  It makes his already pale skin glaringly translucent, and he can see the blue veins running down his skinny arms, disappearing under the dark lines of his tattoos, the black ink impossibly darker in the harshness.

Yondu squints back at him as his eyes adjust, “Seedy.” He comments dryly. “An’ not in tha fun way.”

Kraglin blinks rapidly to dispel the involuntary tears that the lights bring on and snorts. Yondu has this unique way of making him feel at ease, even when he’s so far out of his depth he’s not sure which way is up.

Yondu’s tongue runs over his teeth, flicking back and forth over an eye tooth. It skirts back into his mouth and he pulls his lip between his teeth, chewing on it for a moment. He makes a clicking sound with his tongue and takes a deep breath.

The tension is both unbearable and delicious.

Suddenly they both move at once, crashing into each other in a tangle of limbs.  It isn’t awkward somehow, they slot together like two bizarre puzzle pieces, ones that fit perfectly despite the fact they look like they never would.

Yondu’s fingers go straight up his shirt, tracing the nodules of his spine.  Kraglin’s hands go straight to his hips, pulling them together as their mouths meet.  He shoves his tongue into Yondu’s mouth, which is met with eager, practically ruthless, enthusiasm.

Kraglin reaches around to grab Yondu’s ass, backing him up against the cracked tiles between the sinks.  He tries to worm his fingers into the man’s pants, but finds at this angle the leathers are too tight to get more that his fingertips past the hem. He snarls into the Centaurian’s mouth, pulling his hands away and undoing the man’s belt and buttons, his cool fingers meet overheated skin and Yondu’s head hits the tiles with a metallic crack.

Kraglin smirks, tugging the tight leather over the man’s ass, baring him to the world. The Centaurian’s head tips forwards, chest heaving, eyes heavy lidded. He can see the sweat trickling from his temple, down his neck to dampen the neck of his t-shirt.

It’s the sexiest thing Kraglin’s ever seen.

Fluidly he drops to his knees, he sees Yondu’s eyes widen before he dips his head to lick the tip of the shorter man’s dick. The precum is sticky and thick, almost like syrup, but with a bitter snap, like chewing pepper corns.  He wraps his lips around the head, mindful of the sharp teeth in his mouth and sucks.

Yondu curses loudly, his breaths are raspy and thin, like suddenly there’s no atmosphere and he’s taking his last dying gulps of that precious mix of gases that keeps them all alive. “Didn’t think ya – fuck me – were serious.” The sentence is static – punctuated by gasps and other equally delicious sounds. “Shit. Fuck yeah – that’s it Krags, suck me.”

He could listen to this all night.

The encouraging drawl makes him double his efforts, he slurps and twists his tongue, extending it as far as he can, rubbing Yondu’s smooth, burning hot skin with as much enthusiasm as he can muster.

Yondu groans, looking down at him in something akin to awe, “Where tha fuck did ya learn – don’t matter – holy shit – yeah right – right – there – fuck. Ya gotta – I’mma –” He shoves at Kraglin’s head, but Kraglin holds fast, just for a split second before pulling off with an obscene pop.

Yondu’s hips chase his mouth like a divining rod, he watches with a smug look as the Centaurian’s eyes roll back in his head and he shudders violently.  Yondu grits his teeth, reining himself back in.  He eyes Kraglin, mouth open in a wet pant, “If I –” he struggles to get a sentence out between his surging breaths. “If I wanted a one-sided thing I’d gone ta tha whorehouse. Git up ‘ere.”

Kraglin’s grin is sappy – he can feel it – he pulls himself up using the sink and tugs on his zipper, it catches on his blaster belt and he curses, fingers fumbling to undo it.  Once he’s wrestled the buckle undone, the weight of the weapon sends it sliding out of the loops. It clatters to the floor with a dull thump. He’s real glad he remembered to put the safety on, because that would’ve been a hell of an awkward conversation with the bar owner. The zipper comes undone and the weight of the leather sends the jumpsuit slinging low on his hips.

He’s not exactly sure what Yondu wants here, and it sends his pulse racing.

Yondu pressing him up against the sinks, entering him – hard and fast.

The image hits him like hot wax down his spine.

It’s either that or – the other way around – and fuck – that picture is hotter than solar winds battering a dead planet.

Yondu eyes him hungrily, leaning against the wall, like some kind of sex god, “Ya got lube?” He drawls, deep and throaty.

Kraglin raises an eyebrow, “Nah. Da you?”

Yondu rolls his eyes, “Shit. Welp – we’ll make it work.” He kicks off a boot, shoving his leathers off that leg. The anticipation is melting what little brain cells Kraglin has functioning at this point, as he watches Yondu collect the droves of precum leaking from his cock, he braces a foot on the edge of one of the sinks and reaches between his legs.

Kraglin’s brain short-circuits entirely.

Yondu’s head clacks against the tiles so hard it cracks one as the taller man crowds him, going straight for his neck. Kraglin leaves sloppy love bites across the scarred skin, as Yondu moans.

A high whining click bursts from Yondu’s throat, he hooks a leg around the taller man’s hip and jumps. It’s sheer instinct and dumb luck that Kraglin catches him, pushing him further up the wall as he gains his footing.

He gives Yondu what he hopes is a stern glare – probably not from the look on the other man’s face – and snarls, “Warn a guy will ya?”

“Sorry.” Yondu replies, not sounding very sorry at all.

They stare at each other for all of three seconds before Yondu raises a brow and drawls sarcastically, “We gon’ fuck or what?”

Kraglin’s fingers leave the back of one of Yondu’s thighs, hooking a thumb into his jumpsuit and pulling it down further. His dick springs free, slapping up into Yondu’s ass. He tries not to burst into a fit of laughter as Yondu goes cross-eyed and the all the breath leaves his lungs. "E'erywhere ya touch me 's like ice cubes on ma skin, feels fuckin' amazin'." He groans rutting his hips up desperately. Clearly, his skin is just as sensitive to temperature as Kraglin's. He gives one final shudder and then collects more precum, reaching around his thighs to rub it across Kraglin’s throbbing erection.

It’s his turn to lose his breath, gasping into the other man’s collarbone. When Yondu’s satisfied he releases Kraglin and braces his hands on the sinks either side of them.  He takes some of his own weight which makes it easier for Kraglin to position himself and slowly slide in.

They both groan loudly, moving to catch each other’s lips at the same time. Kraglin begins to thrust and hears the sink Yondu’s gripping creak under the force of his hand. He barely has the coherency to thrust, Yondu’s body is tight, hot and so smooth his mouth fills with spit at the thought.

He angles himself just slightly and suddenly Yondu’s head is flying back, a whiny click punching out of his throat. One sink he’s gripping screeches as Yondu snaps a piece of ceramic clean off, the other bows and buckles, crashing to the floor.  Water streams from the wall and Kraglin slides trying to hold his footing.  He digs in, getting a grip and continues thrusting.

At this point Thanos, his goddamn self, could come crashing through the wall and neither would notice. There’s a sound of slamming and yelling in the background, that Kraglin doesn’t have the presence of mind to place. Right now, his only focus is the man going to pieces in front of him and – fuck – what a gorgeous sight that is.

The sounds Yondu is making, is sending Kraglin’s libido into overdrive.  He watches as the man reaches to palm his own dick, the image sends all his receptors into high gear. Yondu lets lose a series of clicks and growls. Faintly, Kraglin’s lust fogged brain, thinks that may be a sentence, but not in any language he’s ever heard.

Yondu’s back bows and scorching ropes of syrupy cum, cover them both.  The sight sends Kraglin over the edge. He snarls, snapping his teeth and slamming home one last time.  It sends Yondu’s limp form another inch up the wall.

Kraglin’s legs become noodles and he shakily slides Yondu to his own feet.  The man drapes over him like a chunky, sweaty blanket and Kraglin smiles, tucking his nose into the implant.  The scent of earth, metallic discharge and ozone is strangely calming.

“Fuck.” Yondu mutters and he grunts in agreement. He pushes away gently, righting his jumpsuit and looking about for his blaster. Thick blue fingers grip his chin and pull him down for another kiss. When they part the smile on Yondu’s face is just this side of mushy and Kraglin returns it goofily.

There’s a godawful slam against the door, and a stack of creative cursing. Both men look over as the hand rail on the wall gives way and the door slams against the wall.  Four huge, burly men slam through the door - the ones from over near the dart boards - and Kraglin can see the insults die on their lips as they charge in coming face-to-face with with his fucked out, blushing form and a half-naked Centaurian.

They look a sight.

Kraglin’s hair is all fuck-mussed, his shirt is half rucked up and his blaster is still on the floor. Yondu is worse off, one leg is still out of his pants, a boot near one of the stalls, sock sopping wet from the water rapidly pooling all about the floor.

The four men simply stare as Yondu calmly slides his leg back into his leathers and jumps to get them up over his ass. He unashamedly tucks himself back in and does up the buttons and buckles.

Kraglin, awkwardly pulls down his shirt and runs a hand through his hair. He bends down to pick up his blaster, which seems to snap the men out of their daze. The nearest one curls his lip, calling Kraglin a nasty name in his own tongue and lunges at him.

He doesn't get more than a step as a piercing whistle sounds out. The arrow whizzes about the room and leaves a burning trail of sienna across Kraglin's retinas.

Yondu catches the arrow in his fist and smirks as four bodies crumple to the floor. His sock squelches as he pads over to pick up his boot and slip it on. "We should pro'ly git."

Kraglin picks up his blaster, sliding it through the belt loops and sighs, "Ya didn't hafta kill 'em Cap."

Yondu snorts and gives Kraglin a puzzled look, as he untangles him arrow holster from the mangled hand rail and straps it to his thigh. "They was 'bout ta beat yer ass. I 'in't gon' let 'em do that."

Kraglin's immediately filled with a gooey feeling and smiles shyly.

They make their way out of the destroyed bathroom, casually passed the wrecked pool table - Yondu snorts as he sees the owner standing over it staring at it with a puzzled look - and out the front door.

The night air is cool and dry as they make their way back to the docks. Yondu stretches, spine clunking so loud Kraglin can hear it. He chuckles, moonlight glinting off his teeth, giving him a demonic look, "We should pro'ly fuck in a bed next time."

It's a subtle feel of the waters, so to speak.

"Yeah 'bout tha'. I were thinkin' -"

"'Bout what?" Kraglin replies, his heart kicking into overdrive.

"Well," Yondu grunts, scratching his brow with a thumbnail, "there ain't really an 'us' - at least - well, tha whole world don't gotta know, ya know?"

A black look crosses Kraglin's face, he buries the hurt deep down in his soul and plasters on a sneer, "Yeah, I git it. Yer gon' say ferget this ever happened or I'll use yer entrails as decorations in ma cabin an' like a good lil' first mate 'm supposed ta say 'yes'sir' an' pretend I dunno what yer face looks like when ya cum." He lengthens his stride to stalk off but is stopped by a hand on his wrist.

He's spun around and he waits scowl plastered on his face. Yondu blinks up at him with a shocked look, his brow pulls together like he's trying to figure out how this whole situation did a three-sixty.

Kraglin's had enough. He yanks his wrist away and stalks off.

"That ain't what I meant Kraglin." The words follow him on the wind. "Please."

That stops him dead.

Yondu never says please.

He spins back around and stares. Yondu closes the distance in six steps and it's then Kraglin realises the man is actually quite a bit shorter than him, it only took him two steps to cover that.

The Centaurian looks up at him with a fondly, exasperated grin, "Ya moron. Lemme put it real simple, like. This," he waves his hand back and forth between them, "us? Tha crew dun need ta know yet. I only just appointed ya first mate a few months ago. We dun need 'em flippin' out an' sayin' 'm playin' favourites, right?"

Kraglin's entire face softens into a grin, and Yondu pulls him down for a kiss.

It's everything Yondu is; greedy, pushy and mind-numblingly sexy.

They're in the middle of the street where the crew could see them, and the thought sends a thrill through Kraglin and makes his knees weak.

When they part, Yondu clonks his forehead on Kraglin's gently. The ruby irises are glowing softly, and they're filled with promise. Yondu smiles genuinely and pats him on his scruffy cheek.

The man steps passed him and saunters off down the street, a swagger in his step like he's just won the galactic lottery and Kraglin's lips quirk.

He follows, a step behind and slightly to the right, slipping effortlessly into the first mate persona.

Yondu gives him that cheeky grin over his shoulder and Kraglin knows he's going to end up exactly where he wants to be later -

with his hands down Yondu's pants.