ANTARCTICA
Fucking pretend particles into existence in the vacuum; also, cock-monsters.

Language and not-quite sex. Ocelot + Adamska x Raikov

The vacuum was not (something Ocelot ever expected to be a possible space for fucking).

In fact, he'd never expected to come to believe that the vacuum, whatever it was, was even a place, much less existed. It didn't exist because he could not touch or see it, just like the "real" Adamska did not exist or the faux-real Raikov who couldn't be assed to ask Volgin to take his cock out of him from time to time so he could have a life.

He still couldn't see or touch the real Adamska or the faux-real Raikov, but they were there (in the loosest possible sense) in the vacuum, fucking. Ocelot didn't know why.

Raikov (or some warped version of him that sprang from whatever sludge his being conceptualized on the rare occasion Ocelot actually drank himself over the edge) struck a facsimile of his jagged cock with the same force and satisfaction as he gave when punching or manhandling subordinates against Adamska's cock, which Ocelot was almost certain existed even if he didn't see it all that often. Except that it was indefinitely nicer and Ocelot was rather devoid of that familiar sensation of wanting to implant a bullet in his brain (though, unlike his cock, he wasn't exactly sure of the reality of that one). Adamska sighed, or he would have liked to if Ocelot could hear a damn thing. It would have been nice if he could feel, too, even if it was just that Major.

He might have felt, then, with greater or lesser like, Adamska's teeth gnash as a feral (but polite) animal would against the space of Raikov's neck. And the Raikov in question pulled and pushed and pulled and pushed again their penile lengths (contraction and elongation of a singular being as long as there was that oh-so-sweet yet phantom skin contact) at such a rate that Ocelot wasn't sure where they were anymore.

But there are only so many places one can go in a vacuum.

-Look- communicated Raikov as Ocelot imagined without the benefit of sight that he stared at the image of their cocks rubbing together, becoming a cohesive, sweaty, and angry cock-monster. -We are creating tiny civilizations.-

He knew Adamska frowned. -Are you trying to tell me I should get checked out?-

Ocelot might have, for different reasons, if there was such thing as an "out".

Eventually it came to be after the contraction-elongation rate accelerated to nowhere that it was time to die: Ocelot shivered in his mind as Adamska's breaths against what might have been Raikov's temple reached a fever pitch, one that he couldn't fathom having never the interest, and Raikov was the first to come crashing to a screeching halt like the emergency brake applied to a speeding automobile; Adam went out with a bang as he always did. Ocelot never thought death that intriguing, though, much preferring life. But he did know that the dead never quite shut up.

Raikov trembled slightly against Adamska like two notes off pitch. -We are like virtual particles.-

Adamska was the one who wanted to punch him. -No we're not.-

(Ocelot, dissatisfied at the whole affair and idea that they were, simply reorganized his reality as always until they weren't.)