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The first time, he blames it on sleep deprivation. Neither of them have gotten much shut-eye in the month since Miles' birth, which is saying something for two people who spent years sleeping comfortably in war zones. The kid screams louder than gunfire, his little body seeming ready to shake apart with the amount of energy spilling from his tiny lungs.
He's quiet for now, if only because he's got Paz's perfectly formed tit in one mouth. She lies propped up against a stack of pillow, cradling to her chest and humming a lullaby. Her hair spills messily under her face, and she's got shadows under her eyes, and she's so fucking beautiful, and Quaritch thinks--
"What." She's looking at him now. He tries to look back, but his eyes keep sliding to her breasts, the one Junior's feeding on and the other, exposed one. Quaritch leans closer so he can see it, the mattress creaking under his weight.
"Miles." He hadn't even realized what he was doing until she slapped him away from her chest with the hand not holding Junior. "Keep it in your pants, why don't you? He's almost done."
"You've got two tits, honey," Quaritch patiently points out. "I think the kid can share." His hand moves slowly until it can wrap around her breast and squeeze, milk welling up from the nipple. She lets out a soft breath, lids fluttering. "And I'm sure this one is getting awful uncomfortable, isn't it?"
"Fuck off," she mumbles, but she's smiling, and she shuffles back to let Quaritch get a better angle. He leans forward, not entirely sure what the fuck he thinks he's doing, but hell, the kid sure seems to like this shit and it's not like he'll get many opportunities to taste it himself.
So he wraps his lips around one dark, puffy nipple and sucks as gently as he can. The milk is warm--of course it is, not like he's pulling it out of the fridge--and sickly sweet, but not so much that that he can't keep drinking.
Paz lets out a choked noise, somewhere between pain and arousal. Her fingers sliding through his hair, gripping tight, and Quaritch half-wonders if she'll push him away, but instead she pulls him closer. His cock is getting hard and he rubs it against her leg, shameless as one of the animals outside.
Beside him, he hears a whimper, and feels a tiny foot rubbing at his cheek. If he turns his head slightly, he can see Miles staring at him with big brown eyes, little brow winkled as in confusion. Quaritch looks his son dead in the eye and thrusts his hips again, letting out a muffled groan.
"I," Paz whispers, "I should put him down." She doesn't, though. Instead she just lies there and lets Quaritch hump and suck on her, petting Miles' head with her free hand when all the jostling makes him whimper. Quaritch's teeth scrape her nipple and she moans, the sound bouncing off the bedroom walls.
Sleep deprivation does funny things. It messes with your head, everyone knows that. And you learn to get off when you can, that's just the way of things. It's normal.
He comes against her leg just as Miles finishes feeding, unlatching with a little pop. Quaritch pulls off at the same time, because somehow Paz's milk doesn't feel nearly as appealing if he doesn't have anyone to share it with. He settles back on his heels, licking his lips.
"Fuck," Paz whispers, glancing down at her leg. "Clean us up, dummy." He tosses a salute and heads off to the bathroom, blinking rapidly to scare away the reflections of pale seed, brown skin, their son's wet lips. Their son's tiny, wet mouth, open for an encore.
He washes his hands quickly, then goes put the kid into his bassinet so he can give Paz's cunt the attention he deserves. She's already dripping when he arrives, shuddering against him with something like desperation.
The other first time, he can't blame it on much of anything. Sure, it's tempting to chalk it up to resurrection, alien body and dead man's memories fucking their way into hell. But he remembers the milk, the hunger, the rotten aftertaste of sin. This was always gonna happen.
It takes a month. For the feeding, that is, he claims every other part of the kid long before then. Teaches him to give and receive pleasure in a dozen different ways, staking his claim as best he can on a body still stained with that savage blue paint.
Spider makes him work for it, of course. He fights harder than Paz ever did, bites and snarls and scratches and kicking feet. He wakes up screaming for Sully, or Sully's boy, or Augustine's fucking recom, prays to the fairy-tale goddess who never gave two lunar shits about whether he lived or died.
And he breaks apart, over and over again. In Quaritch's mouth, under his cock, under his hands. He breaks and he cries and he says Daddy, please, with the voice of an angel, tears standing out in his bright brown eyes. This is what he was born for, even though he pretends not to know it.
The first time Quaritch wraps a mouth around his soft little pec, Spider hisses and tries to push away, rakes his little nails over Quaritch's kuru. It hurts more than expected, and Quaritch has to fight not automatically clamp down, to instead let his mouth shut carefully, so carefully.
"What are you doing," Spider rasps. "What are you doing, you fucking freak--" Quaritch breaks skin and he hisses, writhing like a beached fish. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
He's asked the question plenty of times since they found each other. Quaritch just hums in response, grabbing Spider's foot with his free hand and rubbing it over his own cock. Spider tries to scratch at him with stubby little toenails, but truth be told that just makes Quaritch harder.
Blood bursts across his tongue, warm and sickly sweet. He feels Spider's breath catch, somewhere between pain and arousal. Balanced on a knife's edge, his boy, with oblivion on either side. Imagine how fucked he'd be without his daddy there to catch him.
He tries not to suck too hard or stay too long, doesn't want to damage his baby. It's easier to come than it was in that battered old human body, if nothing else. He spatters all over his son's foot and Spider makes a noise that tries, not quite successfully, to pass itself off as nothing more than a groan of disgust.
Quaritch pulls off slowly, licking his lips. Spider's chest cleans red, needle-point marks that'll bruise for days, or scar if they're lucky. "Tastes just like your mama," he says, and he means it.
"Fuck you," Spider says, staring at the ceiling, his little cock bobbing between his legs. "And fuck her, too."
Quaritch is feeling too good to punish Spider for his bad manners, although he files the memory away for the next time the kid earns a spanking. He licks a bit of the cum off Spider's foot, salt mingling with sweetness, and gathers the rest on his finger.
Spider squirms a little after Quaritch smears the mess onto his tongue, but he swallows quickly after being persuaded by a quick hand around his throat. Quaritch rewards him by sliding down between his boy's legs and wrapping his tongue around Spider's cock, stomach churning with how damn desperate he is for the next stage of the feast.