Let us get one thing straight before we begin.
I know what you think of me.
I am the Vice Captain. I am the bitch. I am the one who screams orders while everyone else is having a grand old time playing hero or touching themselves in the medical bay. You look at me and you see the red uniform, the tight bun, and the perpetual scowl, and you think I am just a killjoy designed to keep the plot from spiraling into total anarchy.
Well, congratulations. You are absolutely correct.
You must call me Vice, now. Just like everyone else on this flying metal sausage. And if you think running a ship full of hormonal super-soldiers and a Captain with a death wish is easy, you are welcome to take my badge.
Currently, I am standing outside the Ragia's quarters. The corridor is silent, save for the low hum of the ventilation system. I have a datapad in my hand containing the damage report from our last encounter with the Krall today, with Ragia nearly dead. The hull integrity is at eighty-eight percent. Ammunition reserves are critical.
And...
The coffee machine in the mess hall is broken again because Private tried to brew a protein shake in it.
But the report is just an excuse.
I am not here for the data. I am here because... well, because I am a fool.
The door hisses open before I can change my mind.
The room is dark. It smells of him. That infuriating mix of cheap cologne, ozone, and the underlying musk of an Inquor. Ragia is sitting on the edge of his bed. He is shirtless. The bandages on his chest, the ones Shorty applied after he nearly got his heart ripped out, are gone, replaced by the fresh pink scar tissue that marks Inquor healing.
He looks up as I enter.
"Iya," he says. His voice is tired. He does not have that usual spark, that annoying energy that makes me want to punch him and kiss him at the same time. "Come to yell at me about the fuel consumption?"
I step inside and let the door close behind me. I toss the datapad onto his desk without looking at it.
"No," I say. "I came to see if you were dead, and call me Vice!"
"Vice?" Ragia chuckles, but it sounds weak. He runs a hand through his messy hair. "You disappointed?"
"Statistically? Yes. Emotionally? It is complicated." I walk over to him.
My boots click against the metal floor. I stop right in front of him, my legs brushing against his knees. I look down at him. He looks vulnerable like this. Stripped of his armor, stripped of his bravado. It makes my chest ache in a way that is entirely unprofessional.
"You are an idiot, Capt," I whisper.
"I know," he admits, looking up at me. His eyes are dark, reflecting the starlight from the viewport. "But I am alive. The mission was a success."
"The mission," I scoff. I reach out and grab his chin, forcing him to look at me properly. "Do you think I care about the mission? Do you think I care about the Reagalus High Command or the safety of the colonies when you are bleeding out on a stretcher?"
He blinks. He looks surprised. He always looks surprised when I show him anything other than disdain.
"Iya..."
"Don't," I warn him. "Don't you dare use that name right now!"
But my resolve is crumbling. It always does when I am this close to him. My hand slides from his chin to his neck, my thumb tracing the pulse that is beating there.
Strong. Steady. Alive.
I need to feel it. I need to confirm it with more than just sensors and reports.
"I need a status report, Capt," I say, my voice dropping an octave. "On your stamina."
Ragia smiles. It is a slow, crooked thing that makes my knees weak. "Systems are recharging, Iy... Vice. But I think I have enough power for a private consultation."
I don't wait for him to finish. I push him back onto the bed.
He falls back with a grunt, looking up at me with that mix of amusement and hunger that I hate so much. I straddle his hips, my red skirt riding up my thighs. I don't bother with foreplay. I don't bother with the intricate games or the toys.
I just want him. Plain. Simple. Mine.
"You nearly left me," I say, my hands working at the buckle of his belt. "You nearly died in that pod with Prof."
"And like today..."
"But I didn't," he says, his hands coming up to rest on my waist. His palms are warm. "I am right here."
"Prove it."
I yank his zipper down. He is already hard. Of course he is. He is an Inquor. His body reacts to me even when his mind is exhausted. I free him from his trousers. He is thick, heavy, and pulsing with heat.
I lift my hips and position myself.
"I-iya... I mean... Vice," he gasps as I sink down onto him. "You are... tight."
"Stress," I grit out, taking him all the way in. "It does wonders for the pelvic floor."
He fills me completely. That sensation... it is like coming home. It is the only time the noise in my head stops. The only time I am not the Vice Captain, not the soldier, not the survivor of a dead squad. I am just a woman holding onto the only thing that matters.
I start to move.
It is slow. Deliberate. I lean forward, bracing my hands on his chest, right over the new scar. I can feel his heart beating against my palm.
"I hate you," I whisper, leaning down to kiss him.
"Liar," he murmurs against my mouth.
He kisses me back. It is deep and desperate. His tongue tangles with mine, tasting of exhaustion and desire. He matches my rhythm, his hips bucking up to meet me.
"Look at me, Capt!" I commanded, pulling back slightly.
He opens his eyes. They are locked on mine.
"I am the one on top," I say, grinding down on him. "I am the one in control. You do not get to die until I say so. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Ma'am," he groans, his hands tightening on my hips.
I increase the pace. The friction is building, a hot coil of pleasure tightening in my belly. I watch his face. I watch the way his brow furrows, the way his lips part as he tries to catch his breath. I am draining him, I know. I am taking the Melios he just recovered. But I am giving it back, too. We are a closed loop. A circuit of energy and emotion.
"More," I demand. "Give me everything."
"Iya..." he gasps. "I can't... hold it..."
"Good."
I lean down and whisper in his ear. "Fill me up. Remind me that you are still here."
He thrusts up, hard and deep, hitting that spot inside me that turns my brain to static. I cry out, digging my nails into his shoulders.
"Ragia!"
He erupts inside me. I feel the pulses, strong and rhythmic, pumping his life into me. It is hot. It is overwhelming. My own release hits me a second later, a wave of pure, white-hot relief that leaves me trembling.
I collapse on top of him, burying my face in the crook of his neck. I breathe him in. Sweat, sex, and life.
We lie there for a long time. The only sound is our ragged breathing and the distant hum of the engine.
"You are heavy," he mumbles after a while.
"I am anchoring you," I mumble back, refusing to move. "So you don't float away again."
He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight. "I am not going anywhere, Vice. I promise."
I know he is lying. I know that tomorrow, or the next day, or next week, he will throw himself into danger again. He will risk everything to save a colony, or a squad member, or a stray cat. That is who he is.
And I will be there to patch him up, yell at him, and drag him back to this bed.
Because that is who I am.
I lift my head and look at you. Yes, you. The one reading this.
You think this is romantic? You think this is sweet?
This is war. This is survival. This is two broken people trying to fit their jagged edges together so they don't cut themselves to ribbons.
And if you have a problem with that, you can file a complaint with HR.
I roll off him and sit on the edge of the bed. I smooth down my skirt, though I know I look like a mess.
"Get some sleep, Capt," I say, standing up. My legs are shaky, but I lock my knees.
"Aye-aye, Vice," he says, closing his eyes. He looks peaceful now. The tension is gone from his face.
I walk to the door. I pause and look back at him.
"And Capt?"
"If you ever scare me like that again," I whisper, "I will use the Gatling Rose on your kneecaps."
He smiles, eyes still closed. "Understood."
I exit the room and let the door slide shut. I lean against the cool metal of the corridor wall for just a second, letting the mask slip. I wipe a single tear from my cheek.
Then I straighten my back, fix my bun, and pick up the datapad.
Vice Captain, returning to duty.