There weren't many private places on-board the Deucalion for such activity, not that Inaho wasn't too rational anyway, and in the past he had considered himself above such basic need.

It had changed, though; something in him had changed since this war had started. The battles, the life and death situations forced him to live on the edge and to look death right in the eye. There was no way telling if the next Martian robot they ran into would turn out to be something even his strategies couldn't overcome, but Inaho wasn't one to worry about details like that.

The one private place he had found was inside the Sleipnir. It was where he could sit in silence, study the data from the previous battles and analyze ways to counter the enemy. It was his escape from being surrounded by people - and lately he had started to prefer the silent company of the Kataphract. It asked no questions, its only way of communicating with him was offering him whatever data he looked up. It was stable and unchanging, something he was accustomed to, and it was something that stayed the same even in the middle of battles.

Inko had stopped by earlier to ask if he wanted dinner; Inaho had simply stated he would eat later. Dinner hours meant too many people in the mess hall, and right now, he preferred the company of the Sleipnir. He stared at the monitors, calculating the numbers shown there. There was no way of matching the output power of the Martian machines, and they had to overcome them otherwise. The different gimmicks the enemy had made him calculate what else the Martian robots possibly had in store, but there weren't too many ways of predicting it. He'd just have to adjust the strategy as needed.

Right, there was that basic need he needed to deal with. Inaho leaned back in the seat and emptied his mind of the strategy evaluation. His body hadn't required this just a year or so back; perhaps because he had been younger, he calculated. Perhaps it was the war itself that brought this out, the need to relieve the stress the adrenaline left in his body. He didn't think of such things during battle, but a fight left a certain strain. Maybe it all came down to the fact that he didn't mentally find the need to open up to anyone or go through his experiences, outside using them for battle data, but his body had... changed.

He didn't even consider the idea of finding himself a partner for the activity. That would've required taking the other person's needs and feelings into consideration, and he acknowledged lacking the skill for that. Taking care of himself was all it took, anyway.

The other good part about the Sleipnir, outside the privacy, was that it didn't question if what he did was sensible.

He had actually tried to take care of it elsewhere - the showers, since nobody there would've paid attention to whatever he did, but it hadn't worked out. At first he had just thought he didn't need it, but that hadn't been the case, as he had found himself feeling uncomfortable later that night. Only after he had escaped into the safe privacy of the Kataphract had it occurred to him, and it was simple and made sense, really. It was all about the atmosphere.

Inaho didn't think of anything as he undid his pilot suit and unceremoniously stuck his right hand down to his crotch. He recognized the need for relief, and this was the most effective way of taking care of it. The Sleipnir was the only companion he needed, and he ran the fingers of his free hand over the edge of the seat, his expression blank as he wrapped his fingers around his erection and started to stroke himself.

Like everything he did, it was precise and controlled, although he varied the strokes a little. The heat was escalating and each stroke brought him closer to the inevitable orgasm. If he wanted to just take care of the issue, it would've only taken a few minutes, he knew, but the last few times, he had made a habit of taking a few short pauses somewhere in the middle, holding himself back on purpose as if to test himself.

It did bring an odd satisfaction to almost bring himself to the climax then stop and just sit there, tapping his fingers on the control stick. Forty-five seconds would suffice, he calculated, watching the green glow of the monitors around him as he counted the time. His body resisted, and there lingered a slight burning feeling, urging him to finish. Those seconds he counted were just enough to let himself relax a little, and with the count complete, he resumed the strokes, placing his left hand over the closest display filled with data.

The Sleipnir watched him, and the thought brought a hint of a smile to Inaho's otherwise imperturbable face. This was the only companion he needed, and he stared at the figures on the display without actually reading them as he continued on his task, breathing calmly in short controlled breaths as he did. Just a little more...

He paused again, relaxing his body as he let go of his hard-on, moving his fingers away just a little. Another forty-five seconds perhaps, or maybe he'd make it fifty; he was close now and wanted to wait just a bit longer. His eyes scanned the panel on the left as he traced it with his fingertips then brought his hand down to the control stick and traced over it, almost caressing the surface. He leaned to the side and pressed his face against the bar on the side of the seat then took a deep breath as he counted the seconds.

At the count of forty-four seconds he realized he had closed his eyes. The seat held him in its embrace, and he opened his eyes and stared at the green glow of the monitor as he finished the count of the last six seconds before he resumed touching himself. He started more slowly this time, only touching himself with his fingertips. That heat had never left him, and the need for a release grew stronger with every slight touch, and he gave after a moment and wrapped his fingers tightly around his sex and intensified the caresses.

As the climax crept closer he considered taking another break, but at that moment he blinked, noting that the green glow reflected in his eyes had flickered a little. Did the Sleipnir wish for him to finish? He nodded his head in silence and brought his left hand to his crotch as well, drawing his fingers over the tip of his manhood as he strengthened the strokes with his right hand, his breathing still controlled.

His expression didn't change when he came, and he simply waited a moment, letting himself finish then relaxed and raised his left hand to the display on the left again, touching it with his index finger as he stared at the monitor's glow. He would have to clean soon, he knew, but for the moment, he sat there quietly, not moving.

It wasn't just the atmosphere, he realized. It was because he needed a companion after all.

Author's notes:

Written for a friend who was having a bad day and wanted some "eggs or oranges". Here's both. The random ideas you get sometimes, etc.

- Lady Harken (December 2014)