Date: Wed, 6 Jan 2021 00:56:06 -0600
From: Chubby Space Cowboy <chubbyspacecowboy@gmail.com>
Subject: What Do You Taste Like

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