Let me tell you a secret about space travel.
It is boring.
You think it is all laser beams, exploding stars, and dodging asteroids while screaming commands into a headset. And sure, sometimes it is. But ninety percent of the time? It is staring at a screen, watching a little green dot move across a grid, and praying that the life support system does not decide to take a nap.
Currently, I am doing my job. I am navigating the Xeca through the post-jump debris field of the Neptune sector. My fingers are flying across the haptic interface, calculating vectors and thrust ratios.
But my eyes?
My eyes are not on the stars.
They are on the command chair.
Go ahead, judge me. I know you are doing it. I can feel your gaze itching the back of my neck. You are thinking, "Navi, you just had a threesome with Capt yesterday. Are you not satisfied?"
To which I say, "Have you met an Inquor?"
Satisfaction is temporary. Hunger is eternal.
Besides, I am not the one getting the attention right now.
"Ragia..."
That soft, breathless whimper cut through the hum of the engine cooling fans. It came from Vice. Our terrifying, buttoned-up, ice-queen Vice Captain.
She was straddling Capt's lap in the command chair.
Technically, this was a 'mission debriefing'. We successfully neutralized the Centaur hive on Neptune's moon. Capt wanted to go over the combat data. Vice insisted on doing it immediately.
Apparently, 'immediately' meant 'while deep-throating Capt's tongue'.
I shifted in my seat, the leather creaking beneath me. The command center was dimly lit, bathed in the soft blue glow of the monitors. It was quiet, intimate, and smelled faintly of ozone and arousal.
I shouldn't be watching. I should be looking at the proximity sensors. But I couldn't look away.
It was different with her.
With me and Gin, it is fire and ice. It is wrestling. It is messy, loud, and competitive. We treat Capt like a piece of meat we are fighting over.
But with Vice?
Capt's hands were resting on her waist, his thumbs gently rubbing circles against the fabric of her uniform skirt. He wasn't grabbing. He wasn't bruised. He was holding her like she was made of spun glass.
"The report, Iya," Capt murmured against her lips. "We need to discuss the ammunition expenditure."
"Screw the ammunition," Vice whispered back. She ground her hips down.
I saw it. The subtle movement. She was not wearing panties. I knew she wasn't. I saw them on the floor by the tactical station earlier.
"Navi," Vice said, not breaking eye contact with Ragia. "Status."
I jumped, nearly knocking my coffee over. "Uh... steady course. Debris density is decreasing. We are in the clear for the next four hours."
"Good," Vice breathed. "Maintain course. And... eyes on the console."
"Yes, Vice."
I turned my chair back to the screen. But I pulled up the rear-view camera feed on my secondary monitor.
I am a navigator. I need to know what is happening in every direction. It is a safety precaution.
On the small screen, I watched them.
Capt reached down and unzipped his pants. He didn't rush. He pulled Vice's hips up, lifting her effortlessly. She sank down onto him.
"Oh God..." Vice threw her head back, her hair spilling over her shoulders like a dark waterfall.
It was slow. Agonizingly slow.
With me, he thrusts like a piston. With her, he glided. He filled her inch by inch, letting her adjust, letting her feel every vein, every ridge of his anatomy.
I slid my hand under my desk.
My skirt was already hiked up. It is a bad habit of mine. When the ship hums, I hum. I grabbed my favorite stylus… remember the one with the smooth, rounded cap? I pressed it against my panties.
I was wet. Soaking wet.
Watching them was torture, but it was the best kind of torture.
"You did good today, Iya," Capt whispered. I could hear them clearly. The acoustics in here are designed for clarity. "Your strategy with the Gatling Rose... it saved us."
"I did it for you," Vice gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders. "Always for you."
He kissed her neck, right on the pulse point. Vice shuddered, her entire body trembling.
I bit my lip, pressing the stylus harder against my clitoris.
I was jealous.
I admit it to you, okay? I am jealous. Not of the sex. I get the sex. I am jealous of the way he looks at her.
He looks at me like I'm a 'fun weekend'. He looks at her like she is the reason gravity exists.
"Move for me, Iya," Capt encouraged her.
Vice began to rock. It was a gentle rhythm, matching the low thrum of the Xeca's engines.
Up and down. She was crying. I could see the tears glistening on her cheeks on my monitor.
Why was she crying?
Was it a relief? Was it love? Or was she scared?
I thought about yesterday. How frail Capt had looked in the gym before we fixed him. He seemed better today.
Stronger, Blbut there was a desperation in Vice's movements, a need to be as close to him as physically possible, that made my stomach knot.
"Ragia... please... deeper..." Vice begged.
"I can't go any deeper, Iya," he chuckled, a low, warm sound. "I am touching your soul."
"Then go past it!" she sobbed.
She picked up the pace. The gentle rocking turned into a frantic grinding. She was chasing something. A release. An escape.
I moved the pen in circles, rubbing my swollen nub through the damp fabric of my panties. My breath hitched.
"That's it," I whispered to myself. "Go, Vice. Get it."
I imagined it was me. I imagined he was holding me that tenderly. I imagined he was whispering 'Tonix' instead of 'Iya'.
But I knew it was a fantasy.
Some people are main characters. Some people are the comic relief who handle the navigation.
Vice let out a high, keening wail. "Ragia! I'm... I'm losing it!"
"Let go," he commanded softly. "I've got you. I won't let you fall."
Vice arched her back so hard I thought her spine would snap. Her hands flew from his shoulders to the console behind him, gripping the edge of the tactical map.
"Coming! I'm coming!"
And then, disaster.
Or a miracle, depending on your perspective.
Vice squirted…
It wasn't a little dribble. It was a high-pressure release. A clear arc of fluid shot out from where their bodies were joined. It flew through the air, sparkling in the blue light of the command deck.
I held my breath.
If that hit the main guidance processor, we were dead in the water.
The fluid splashed down... onto the floor. Just inches from the sensitive circuitry of the comms panel.
"Safe!" I whispered, my own orgasm hitting me at the sheer relief…
And the visual. Maybe?
My hips bucked against the underside of the desk. I bit my knuckle to stifle a scream, letting the waves of pleasure roll over me. I clamped my legs together, squeezing the pen, riding out the aftershocks of watching my superior officer water the floor like a lawn sprinkler.
In the command chair, Vice collapsed onto Capt's chest. She was sobbing openly now, her body convulsing with the force of her climax.
Capt held her. He wrapped his arms around her, rocking her back and forth. He kissed the top of her head, murmuring things I couldn't hear, things that were too private even for my eavesdropping.
I pulled the pen out from under my skirt and wiped it on a cleaning rag I kept in my drawer.
I sat there, my heart pounding, watching them on the monitor.
Vice eventually calmed down. She lifted her head, wiping her eyes. She looked like a mess. Her uniform was disheveled, her face was blotchy, and she was sitting in a puddle of her own making.
But she looked happy.
Capt smiled at her. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Better?" he asked.
"Shut up," she sniffled, but she kissed him. A soft, lingering kiss on the lips. "You are an idiot."
"I know," he said. "But I am your idiot."
Vice climbed off him. Her legs were shaky. She almost fell, but Capt caught her hand.
"Careful, Vice Captain," he teased. "The deck is slippery."
She glared at him, but there was no heat in it. She adjusted her skirt, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.
"Navi," she called out, her voice cracking slightly.
I spun my chair around, putting on my best 'I was totally working' face. "Yes, Vice?"
"We are... done with the evaluation," she said, avoiding my eyes. "I am going to my quarters to... file the report."
"Understood," I said, keeping my face neutral.
She walked past me. She smelled of sex and him.
Capt remained in the captain's chair. He was adjusting his pants. He looked tired again, and his skin pale.
He looked at me and winked.
"Keep her steady, Navi," he said.
"Aye, Capt," I nodded.
He stood up and followed Vice out of the room.
I was alone in the command center.
I looked at the puddle on the floor. I looked at the stars on the screen.
I sighed, leaning back in my chair.
You know, sometimes I wish war was the only thing we had to worry about. War is simple. You shoot the bad guys, you go home.
But love?
Love on a spaceship heading into the void? That is complicated.
I really hope they make it. I hope Capt survives this madness. I hope Vice gets to wear a white dress instead of a red uniform.
I want to be the bridesmaid. I want to catch the bouquet.
And maybe, just maybe, at the wedding reception, the groom will have enough energy left for one more round with the navigator.
A girl can dream, right?
Now, if you will excuse me, I need to call a cleaning drone to the bridge. And I need to sanitize this pen.
Don't look at me like that. We all have our coping mechanisms.