The Practical Solution

If anybody ever asked, Tucker would tell then that he was as straight as a line. As straight as a ruler. So straight that you could use him to level a table.

But a man had needs, desperate times called for desperate measures, and neither were likely to get much more desperate than they were now. The only women he'd even talked to in years were Church's psycho ex-girlfriend and the AI of a tank. It didn't really matter whether or not you could pick up chicks in a tank when there weren't any other chicks to be found on the whole stupid planet as far as he knew, and he doubted Sheila would go along with it if he tried anyway.

So if he didn't want to spend the rest of forever--or at least long enough to feel like it; didn't everyday in Blood Gulch seem to take forever?--getting cozy with Thumbelina and her four sisters he didn't really have a lot of choices. In fact, when he stopped to think he really only had one. The reds were, well, Red, so they were right out, and if was ever given the choice between shoving his dick in Caboose or a meat grinder he'd have to stop and think long and hard about which would be less psychologically traumatizing in the long run. When it came down to it, the guy he hated more than a little was the only one in the area he was willing to take a brief trip (or ten, or however many it would wind up being if they did it every day or two until he finally got assigned to somewhere that was less of a godforsaken hellhole) around Homo Hill with. At least he'd known Church for longer than any of the other losers in the canyon, and was pretty sure that he had a working brain in his head. Or his ectoplasm. Whatever the hell it was he used for thinking now.

It helped that Tucker was absolutely positive that Church had to be the one person in Blood Gulch more desperate than he himself was, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. The guy was a ghost now after all, and the only time he'd had a body long enough that he could have tried letting off a little tension it had been a robot-- no nerves and nothing but a switch where the dick should be even if he could feel. He couldn't have any real contact with another person if he wanted to without jumping into their head, and how many people were going to let a ghost screw around in their mind for the purpose of, well, screwing?

Which was why Tucker'd managed to work up the balls to proposition another man without any worries that it might blow up in his face an turn him into the joke of the blue base (not that there was much of a threat of that anyway, as long as Caboose was around), and why Church's lips were wrapped around his cock in a quiet section of his own mind. And damned if Church wasn't surprisingly good at going down on another man. Sure, it might just be because every sensation Tucker was getting out of it was a figment of his imagination in a weird and very vivid way, and he wasn't about to imagine himself getting a bad blowjob, but he liked to think that it was really from experience Church had gained dating a woman who was more of a man than he was.

Suddenly Church jerked back and glared at him. "For the love of god, Tucker, stop thinking!" he said in a tone that told Tucker he was five seconds away from punching him in the face. Of course, since he sounded like that half the time anyway it wasn't especially threatening.

Still, Tucker was a little glad that the only part of his armor he'd removed so far was the crotchplate. Though he wasn't sure how much help imaginary armor would be, and that was the most important part of him left vulnerable anyway. "Huh?" he asked, hoping that not saying any real words might keep him safe.

Church didn't seem to be listening to him anyway. "You want to try rationalizing yourself down to a one on the Kinsey scale, fine. You want to convince yourself that this is some sort of favor to me, whatever man, I probably wouldn't be here if some of that wasn't true on some level. But leave Tex out of it."

Oh crap. "Oh crap. You could hear all that?"

"Where the hell do you think we are, dipshit? Here's a tip; as long as we're in here, if you can hear your thoughts, so can I. And you aren't enough of an insane idiot to make it too confusing to follow like Caboose's brain is." The anger had already left his voice, as fast going as it was coming (or maybe thinking about how much Caboose annoyed just made it hard for anything else to enrage him), and a second later his lips curved into a smirk as he stood up to tug Tucker's helmet off. "There is one good side to it. It'll be fun to see just how long you can hold onto your denial when you're begging me to pound you into the wall harder."

"Oh, as if I'm gonna let you--" Tucker was cut off by Church's mouth slamming into his in a hard kiss, the other man's hand wrapping around his cock and giving it a few firm strokes at the same time, and damned if it didn't feel so good that he wasn't suddenly willing to let Church do whatever he wanted as long as Tucker finally got a chance to get off to a touch that wasn't his own hand.

And of course Church just had to hear that too, judging by his sudden muffled laugh against Tucker's mouth. The bastard didn't have to sound so mocking about it.

It was just a sign that it had been way too long since he'd gotten any anyway. He was still just as much of a ladies man as ever.

• • •

Much, much, later Tucker's mind returned from its trip deep into his mind to find a very uncomfortable mess waiting for him.

"...Damnit, Church! Next time we do this, remind me to take off the bottom half of my armor first!"