McQueen pushed through the swing doors and walked to the bar with careful, even steps, aware of the many pairs of eyes that fell on him, those who hated him, those who feared him, those who were curious, and those who wanted him.

He was particularly aware of the high intensity looks Hawkes was burning his way. McQueen could almost feel his temperature rising as those eyes raked mercilessly over his body.

He sat down at the bar, ordered a beer, and took several sour sips at it before he turned to meet those eyes, and those of West, who sat beside Hawkes, equally dark with hunger.

He nodded to them slightly, then returned to his drink.

Hours later there was a short knock upon his hatch.

McQueen swung it open.

"If it isn't the Thompson Twins," he grinned, to Hawkes scowl, and West's raised eyebrows. If only Hawkes knew how much he looked like Tin Tin, with his hair stuck up in the front like that. It was still fluffy, just washed. They'd showered, ready, prepared.

The hatch door shut tight.

The boys dropped their shirts on the floor and moved in McQueen, dragging him down to the bed with them, pulling away his clothes, tasting his skin hungrily. He felt himself devoured, nibbled upon from all angles, twisting his head back as they pushed him down on the bunk, between them as the moved.

"Hawkes," he growled, tasting the tongue that thrust down his throat, cutting off all further speech.

"West," he groaned, as his other Lt sworled his tongue around the scarred little sacs.

He thrust into West's hot, hungry mouth, as Hawkes moved around behind him, rubbing, grinding, sucking hard upon his omphalo. He groaned, and as they tortured him sweetly, he shuddered and came.

He lay beside them, fingers stroking, tongues licking, tasting salt slicked skin.

West squirmed up besides Hawkes, pushing him into the middle, fondly teasing the tiny curl in the middle of his forehead between his finger tips. When Hawkes was good, he was very very good. When he was bad, he was horrid.

McQueen nipped along Cooper's shoulder, moving up to his navel, while West slide down to repeat the same luscious strokes upon his lover.

Hawkes shut his eyes tight and grunted deep in the back of his throat, not ready to give it up, until he could hold it no longer.

West pushed into his mouth, as McQueen pushed in from behind. He writhed, doubly pinned, their captive until they freed him. Then West found himself pressed flat against the mattress, then it was McQueen's turn again.

And so it went until they lay in a tangle of limbs, spent and sated, eyes liquid, their salty, sticky essences cooling on Invitro and human skin.

McQueen rested his head back against Cooper's chest, smiling smugly to himself. The realisation that he loved these kids didn't scare him anymore, at least, not at this moment, too tired, too satisfied to care where he would send them in the morning.

~

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