“Odd? You’re sure?” Faye smirked at Jet, a spark of humor in her voice.
“Yes. Odd.” Jet replied shortly. He was determined not to lose his last bit of clothing, and dignity, to the gambler supreme, and though he had the strangest feeling that she was cheating (she was), his competitive nature and pride would accept no backing down. The Black Dog, after all, never backed down.
Faye continued to smirk, a small glint in her eyes as she lifted the cup.
“Snake eyes,” she said, cocking her head and looking at him with an increasingly smug look, her shining black bangs framing her perfect heart-shaped face, “Even.”
Jet’s eyes widened in shock, and in his despair sat back with a yell and a dramatic bionic hand on his bald head.
Faye leaned back, languidly stretching her arms out on the top of the couch. Her signature red shirt drooped around her shoulders revealing her ivory shoulders and displaying her yellow-clad bust as she regarded Jet with her unreadable green eyes. She continued to flash him that infuriating smirk.
Jet continued to lean back on the sofa, his hands covering the top of his bald head in shock and shame. He dropped his hands from his head and sat forward, face disappointed but neutral, scratching his thick beard and sideburns absentmindedly.
“Well, Jet?” She said sweetly, waiting for him to beg her for another chance or to offer her something more enticing than his boxers, perhaps a few packs of cigarettes or some Woolongs for those nice new boots she liked at the Casino.
“A man keeps his word,” said Jet finally, face set and drawing himself up to his full, impressive height. As his arms, organic and bionic, dropped to his hips to grasp the waistband of his boxers, Faye briefly let her mask slip. She stopped smirking, her eyes widening slightly.
She didn’t have a chance to say anything else before he dropped his boxers, letting the fabric pool around his ankles. Well, Faye didn’t expect this at all. Not only that Jet would actually let her cheat him out of all of the clothing on his back, but also what Jet was hiding underneath those boxers.
Faye Valentine was not a shy woman. Though Whitney had been her first “love”, terrible as that ended, he hadn’t been her first. There had been several handsome men who she had seduced for a target, and she was no stranger to men as a species. But this made her blush.
Jet Black was an interesting partner—if Faye’s on-off presence on the Bebop counted as being part of the crew—a burly ex-cop who loved bonsai, cooking (when food was available), and a man who was, underneath it all, very sensitive and caring. A sucker, Faye first thought, though he had turned out to be oblivious to her attempts to flirt, at most just chuckling at her little comments and quips. Most men, including Spike on occasion, didn’t hide their glances at her bust or her long runner’s legs, or her perky forever-20 behind, and her outfit made no attempts to hide any of it. But Jet, no, Jet was immune. She had found herself glancing at his built arms, his muscled abdomen, and his broad back more frequently and found herself imagining what that beard would feel like between her—well, Faye didn’t expect any of this, really.
Jet stood with his hands on his hips, staring Faye directly in the eyes. She continued to blush and hadn’t moved from her lounging position. She was too busy staring at the piece of equipment Jet had hidden for so long.
“Oh, come on, stop staring at me. You won, Faye, just take ‘em,” Jet said, growing more frustrated. The boxers had been placed on the metal table between them. Faye didn’t move.
“What are you staring at, Faye!?—oh.” It was Jet’s turn to blush as he noticed what Faye was looking at, and he started to chuckle uncomfortably, his bionic arm raised up to scratch the back of his head, another nervous habit of his.
“You’ve surely seen one before Faye, stop lookin’ at me like that and let’s put this behind us! The sooner the better,” he grumbled, shaking his head and shifting slightly, hands back on his hips.
Faye was entranced. Before her was surely the largest dick she had ever seen. Jet was a big guy, sure, but that was no guarantee of one’s size. As he shifted, it swung lightly. Her eyes followed the movement and she continued to stare at his flaccid member with wide eyes. It rested in a nest of well-maintained coarse black hair, the same color as the hair on the rest of Jet’s non-bionic, muscular body.
Jet was bright red now, and there was a desperate note in his voice now, “Faye, I told you to stop starin’! You’re starting to creep me out, woman!”
“This is unexpected.” She said quietly.
“…W-What?” Jet replied incredulously, not sure he heard her correctly.
Faye stood then, her shirt shifting off one shoulder, and in a trance climbed over the table like a hunting cat and stood in front of Jet, who backed up a step. Jet’s red face stared at the woman in shock as she reached for his cock.
“W-woah!” He sputtered as she gently lifted his member to hold it. It was as thick as her forearm and just about as long, she could see that clearly.
“F-Faye, you can’t just go grabbing a man like that, it’s—oof!” He gasped sharply as she took hold of his cock with both hands, working him from root to tip.
She looked up at Jet firmly, “Let me,” she said, her eyes fiercely meeting his, and he knew there was no room for argument. Not that Jet would argue. He hadn’t had a woman touch him like that since Alisa—hell, even towards the end of their relationship he hadn’t been touched much. His cock had already begun to stiffen at the touch, the vein below becoming pronounced with the strong blood flow, and Faye’s already amazed expression grew with him. She looked at him once more, and he nodded, permission for her to continue.
“Oh... My God,” Faye said quietly. Her red knotted shirt continued to slip off her shoulders as she sunk to her knees in reverence of the beast before her. Jet had a clear view of her cleavage and he averted his eyes out of habit.
“Jet Black. Look at me,” Faye commanded. Jet obeyed her, meeting her eyes once more. She stared at his member at eye-level, and when he felt her hot mouth closing in on the engorged, flared tip he groaned loudly, his eyes closing and his knees going weak.
Spike padded down the hallways, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, and stopped in the doorway as he saw Jet’s boxers float by. Spike smirked, knowing he had gambled and lost against infamous Romani, before hearing the older man huffing and panting in the den.