Aurora Awakening - Part 2

But finding a new cabin wasn’t as easy as I’d planned.

I went and talked to Jamila the ship doc first, since she and I had gotten to be good friends during the last run. She may be a med on duty, but she’ll tear your head off at spinhockey. I liked her fine and we understood each other, so it seemed like an easy jump that we’d make good cabinmates. Plus I recked she’d scan me when I explained that it just wasn’t ship-proper that I’d be bunking with my shout-to.

Instead, Jamila acted like I’d asked her to singe a couple of my toes off. She looked at me all strange, like her inner gyro was skewed, and asked if I wouldn’t rather think about it first. Who did she reck she was plugging into?

Of course I couldn’t tell her everything, but I made a hopgood argument as to why it was best, and she still wouldn’t pay it any scrap. She said she liked her bunkmate fine, but I could down some caff with her anytime I wanted to swap thoughts.

Thanks.

Plenty of people on the Aurora owed me favors, as you probably already inkled, but I couldn’t get anyone to pay up. My friends in Nav and on the swab crew were no jingle, and copypaste that for the galley, uniform, and basic maint crews. Guiterrez on the fire team recked I could switch into her tiny second-deck cabin if I hooked my cabin up to receive illegal scan feeds before I left and didn’t mind that her two bunkmates were on a love-hate cycle with alternate bouts of sex and fighting that could make the dead sit up and bang on the walls.

I said I’d get back to her. And I damn near did after that night’s performance from Fa.

Scratch, I still don’t know how she had the energy for it. We’d spent our whole shift working on the steam coils for the first hot growroom, since we were hopnear to making our first planet. To make sure the coils were clear and working, of course we had to turn them on, and natch there were a bunch of blockages that we had to find and clear. That was the horticults’ fault for not blowing and clearing them properly after the last run, but it was thumpsure our problem now.

Fa was down to just her tank and skivs within the first hour. I made it another two, but by that point there was no pretending I wasn’t melting in my fullsuit. And since Fa and I had seen each other naked or in skivs dozens of times by then, it was more awkward to make a point of not stripping off.

So I did. After all, I recked me in my skivs and tank was no big show, and Fa was going to stay like she was either way. All the same, I was off plumb, and Fa inkled it. Tension filled the room even faster than the steam did. I was trying hard not to look at Fa, which meant I wasn’t talking to her much, and that was making us both nervous.

Finally some poor third-rank horticult walked in on us climbing through the beams and pipes half-dressed, and actually gave a little shout of surprise before running back out. Fa and I hopnear fell off our ladders laughing, and after that it was easier.

Easier, but not easy. After we got the coils clear, we had to safecheck all the boil units under the floor panels. Once you know it, it’s a one-person job, so the crawlspaces were built with one person in mind. That’s efficient, like a light-crew ship should be, sure, but a real pain in the hams when you have to take someone down there and train her how to do it.

And this time that her was Fa. We spent three hours down there, sliding along with our spread-out fullsuits under our backs and working shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. We were both shining with steam and sweat, and more than once, Fa had to crawl right over me so she could see the gauge I was trying to tell her about. She crawled across my chest just the once, and then after that I thumpsure found excuses to flip over so she slid across my back. Because a panting, sweaty Fa pressed up against my back was so easy to take.

Between the steam and the work and the scent of Fa, I was dizzy by the time we finally climbed back out and suited up to go to our cabin. And what with seeing those lean, perfect legs of hers all day and the raw mental effort of feeling her skin sliding against mine most of the afternoon and trying not to let it affect me, I was falling-down exhausted by the time we got in. Fa let me peel off and shower first. I was a mess of emotions, and my head was full enough of Fa that I was tempted to give myself a lightquick release in the shower, but then I recked even a few extra minutes between me and sleep was no scrap.

So I stumbled out and nodded to Fa as she brushed past me – naked, of course – and didn’t even bother to finish toweling off my hair before collapsing into my bunk.

I fell dead asleep for a bit, but I was bang flush awake when I heard Fa hit the sheets and then snap off the light. I reck my system was just tuned to her at that point, and my body calculated that if she came into the room, it must be important.

I listened for her to settle down and stop moving, but she never did. I heard the soft rustle of her hands slowly moving under the sheets. She was so close and I was so tuned in to her that I recked I knew what she was doing.

Fa and I slept parallel, our heads even with each other. So I knew that when the rustling of the sheets was lower down, she was tracing her fingers up and down her thighs. And when it went higher up, she was circling her pretty little breasts.

She stayed there a long time, making only the quietest sounds with her movements, but starting to breathe harder and make those tiny, strained noises in the back of her throat. I knew she was brushing her hands over her pink little nipples, and I recked every time she whimpered she was dragging her thumbs across them or giving herself a little pinch.

The more I tried not to picture what was going on, the more my head was full of her. I squeezed my eyes shut tight and tried not to think about how much I wanted to be the one getting her to make those little sighs.

Her skin seemed so delicate, and her breasts were the palest part of her of all. I thought about how my tanned hands would look against them, and whether the row of calluses I had along the bases of my fingers would feel too rough to her or make her shiver. Well, if she found my hands too rough, I could always trace my lips over her nipples instead…

That one made my neglected clit throb so deep that I reflexively hunched my knees up and pulled the covers hard around my shoulders. She paused for a moment when she heard that, then I reck she regrouped. I heard the rustle of a hand snaking downward, then a rhythmic sound that I was thumpsure was the motion of her wrist as her fingers circled her clit.

Hellscratch. I began to think out how upset she’d be if I jumped out of bed and just tilted lightquick for the shower. There was no way I could get there without a convo I absolutely did not want to have, so I stayed where I was, rigid as one of our central loadbeams.

Fa couldn’t get where she needed to be either. As tormented as I was, I felt sorry for the poor squib. I heard her working faster, moaning in whimpering in what was sounding more like frustration than pleasure. Her whole body was moving by then, and she’d forgotten entirely about trying not to make noise.

I heard her throw off her sheets, and then her fast, jerky movements as she whipped off her skivs. Fa was three feet away from me, naked and fit near to blam with wanting to come. Suddenly the steam coils seemed refreshing and comfortable.

And I recked I understood what she needed, too. Sometimes the problem with using your hand is that you can’t surprise yourself. Most of the time that’s no scrap, but sometimes you just need the unpredictability of another person to make it happen. A sudden change in rhythm or the flick of a tongue you didn’t expect. Or sometimes you just need someone else to take you to a place you didn’t know you wanted to go.

I recked Fa would stop and yank the covers back over her if she heard me stand up, which was too bad for more reasons than I could count. A little patch of my brain was yelling that if I just went to her, she’d let me take over and give her that release.

I’d spent close to a decade fine-tuning delicate instruments and trying to find the tiniest fraction of sensitivity on any gauge I came across. I knew I could touch Fa the way she needed if only she’d give me the chance. I could tease her pretty little bubs until her head was spinning, then push her thighs apart and let my lips and tongue do what her hands couldn’t seem to.

I could still hear the faint noise of Fa working her clit and the sound of her writhing on her bunk. I recked she was pushing her hips right off the sleep pad.

I pressed my thighs together as I wondered how hot and tight she’d be when I pushed my fingers inside her and thought about the noises she’d make as I lashed my tongue across her clit to finally push her over the edge. 

And for the first time, my clit throbbed hard enough that a tiny noise of frustration welled up in my throat.

I was terrified she’d heard it, but I recked she didn’t have time to think about it because a second later Fa finally blammed. She let out one sharp cry and then rolled over and buried her face in her pillow to muffle the noise as she came. Four quick yells into the pillow, and then one long shivery release. 

Most beautiful sounds I'd ever heard.

Fa panted a few times as she recovered, then I heard her pull the covers up and sigh as her breathing deepened and she fell asleep.

Me, though? I was awake for hours, trying to cool down and wondering what in hellscratch  to do.