Adam Driver as Mills from "65", penitent, the tangled tendrils of his hair shining with sweat, forehead deeply furrowed by brows quirked upward over beseeching eyes, cheeks scrawled with bloody scratches, the soft set of his mouth wreathed by whiskers, bearded chin tipped up with his gaze, the column of his neck framed by his blood-stained shirt.
Mills is kneeling, gazing up at Koa as she stands in front of him, an open, vulnerable expression on the face of this gruff, stoic man as he waits to know if she's chosen to forgive him.
By this point in the film, Mills and Koa had, despite their lack of a common language, developed an easier rapport, built upon their common experiences as they had struggled to reach the mountain. While the language barrier was still very real, they had begun to better understand and intuit the intent behind each other's unfamiliar words.
But when Koa finds the shattered cryo-stasis pods in the wreckage of the ship surrounding the escape pod, she realizes that Mills' promise to reunite her with her family had been a lie; he had known all along that her family wasn't waiting on the top of the mountain for her, that they had died in the crash.
Mind you, Mills clearly felt guilt about the lie from the very beginning, and had actually confessed the entire truth to Koa in a frustrated rush when she harangued him for giving up when the going got tough in the caverns. But their lack of shared language meant she couldn't understand him, leaving his confession thwarted and his conscience clouded, though at least he had the consolation of knowing he'd tried to tell her.
Angry and heartbroken by what she sees as a betrayal of the trust underpinning their relationship, Koa lashes out, yelling, hitting, and shoving a subdued Mills before slumping down, weeping as the realization that she'll never see her family again hits home.
Mills kneels in front of where she's huddled, and, using the few words of her language that he knows, quietly reveals that the girl in the holovids that Koa took from the ship, the ones he was so prickly about her playing, is his daughter. That the last time he'd seen Nevine alive, she had been mad at him too, and that he hadn't been there when she fell sick and died, making it clear that this is the crippling emotional wound he bears on his spirit— he feels his failed his daughter when she needed him most, and there would never be another chance for him to make that right with her.
He goes on to say, voice thick with unshed tears, "I need to get you home", and it's understood that this is his way of atoning for his inability to help Nevine; he couldn't save his own daughter, but he had resolved to do everything he could to save Koa, even if it meant lying about her family's survival to get her to brave the journey with him to the escape pod.
Braced for the rejection he feels certain to come, Mills actually flinches when Koa moves to hug him, but then, realizing she's chosen forgiveness, he surges up to carefully enfold her, whispering his apologies, for lying to her, for her loss.
The reference for this one was a screencap from "65", taken and edited by me. This scene was very dark, and I needed to do a lot of photoshop magic to get it to be light enough to see the details more clearly. The perils of painting a scene set at night on a prehistoric world, I suppose.
About 15 hours of work, give or take. Only 5 color overlays for this one, with three of them being different shades of blue. I had hoped to have this done by 10 Mar, since that was the 3rd anniversary of 65's theatrical release, but better late than never.
Summary: Cracks start to appear in the idyll aboard the Icarus.
CW: mature/explicit everything, angst galore
WC: ~6k
Giving up on the contrived timekeeping came about naturally in the following days – or whatever they were. Nothing especially productive was on either of your agendas for the foreseeable future, so 24-hour increments were dispensed with.
*
Time and days were demarcated by bouts of exhausted sleep, lasting for irregular stretches and bookended mostly by eating or fucking.
The fucking was initially to exhaustion. As though coming off a brutally restrictive episode, you found yourself indulging to the point of sickening oversaturation. A lot of it had to do with satiating very real needs, but after that was accomplished, there was the simple fact that you could. So much was taken away from both of you, and more than once, you felt yourself persevering in yet another heated entanglement with Julian because the feelings that rushed through you then could not be taken away regardless of anyone’s decisions or failures.
It was particularly satisfying watching Julian grow bolder and give himself what he needed with you and your body. His hands were reverent as they held you, eyes adoring and devouring all at once. At times, it seemed like he couldn’t quite convince himself you were that close and matching his adoration and desire. To keep from breaking down, you threw yourself more desperately into the fray with him.
That hazy, exhilarating time, full of disorientation where your only touchstone was Julian and the dimensions of his skin, the rhythm of his breathing and movements, felt like a long bout of healing. Had you been able to think much past your immediate, howling wants, it would have felt like all you needed was this to stave off the madness. Something so good, sinking bone-deep, after so much coldness, darkness, and despair.
An unspoken challenge appeared to hover around you - to fuck on every surface and in every area of the Icarus. You never put it into words, and it didn’t even occur to you consciously, but some instinctive part of you took over whenever you found yourself anyplace you’d been before, only vertical and clothed.
Over breakfast, you swept away your plates and climbed over the table and into Julian’s lap. He leaned back, smirking like a cat about to devour a canary.
In the observation deck, he turned off the lights and holos, leaving you in dense, swallowing darkness until overhead screens slowly sprang apart, revealing endless stars wheeling above and all around.
You made the rounds in all cabins of interest. His, your own, one styled like a log cabin, an elegant art nouveau one, with a slender spiral staircase and round sliding doors, covered in a lush black tapestry and richly embroidered with gold. The mostly iron furniture, elegantly wrought though it was, soon became an obstacle and a bruise factory. Julian advised against the peep show cabin, but your curiosity demanded to be satisfied. The bed was as shitty as advertised, and the cabin soon abandoned, despite the charmingly sleazy ambiance.
Various corridors and the Grand Concourse got the same treatment.
The elevator leading to the bridge and crew cabins offered a unique experience. You marveled at the loss of gravity and how that affected your body in an already affected state. The reappearance of gravity led to sustaining some embarrassing injuries and learning valuable lessons about wearing seatbelts.
*
Following the magnificent night of your date with Julian, the space walk you took would not leave your mind.
You filled your time mostly with bedroom activities, and there was a deep comfort in being together, but you still felt a need to honor the profound awe you experienced floating outside of Icarus’ walls.
While Julian was sleeping, you slithered carefully out of bed and grabbed your pad to do some reading.
Some poetically-inclined staff members of Homestead had made comments about the ship’s name after it was announced, addressing the breadth of implications it carried. Namely, Icarus’ epochal crash and burn, and what sort of portent that might be for the mission. At that time, you had no plans to report on the flight, let alone be on board, so it didn’t stick with you. After the experiences of observing a massive, blazing star in the observation deck and flinging yourself out of Icarus’ confines, you had a new perspective on it.
Myths were routinely reinterpreted for various purposes, and adapted to reflect the zeitgeist. The myth of Icarus was no more immune to this process than any other.
Originally, the tale of Daedalus and Icarus was one of a remarkable, genius parent who couldn’t quite adapt to the role of caretaker to his child, too enamored and blinded by his own ambition and ability. Daedelus was also a man with unpaid debts. Envious, murderous, a disrupter of kingdoms and natural order. His imprisonment came about for valid reasons, as well as petty jealousies.
Still, he remained convinced he was invincible. In fact, he believed, and made his son believe, they were both godlike and indestructible. Patiently, humbly, they wait, and collect feathers that drop down into their maze. Trash and accidental leavings woven into salvation, made beautiful and glorious by Deadelus’ ingenuity and spite.
He takes good care to make their harnesses and wings, out of love and a dogged dedication to escape, to glory, to invention. The father does give warnings to the son, a fact often forgotten or left out in truncated retellings. Do not climb too high to the sun, nor sink too deep to the water. It’s all there.
But there is no warning of the essential threat, one that goes beyond the simple instruction - the rapture of the heights and the rapture of the deep. A warning that there is a line which, once crossed, leads to certain doom. We now know of effects of oxygen on the brain and the effects of hormones such as adrenaline on our perceptions and behaviors, but even without such verbiage and scientific studies as backing, ancient wisdom still recognized these pitfalls. Without a clear and powerful why, Icarus – drunk on dizzying success and a lifetime of aggrandizing – stands no chance of resisting.
In his flight, he dips low, seduced by the spray of the fresh, endless sea, misting his wings with salty water. No matter, he thinks, and soars, tearing through the clouds in his flight, climbing closer to the sun. The feathers dry, but grow brittle, crusted with salt. Then he is seized with wonderment, seeing the world beneath and the sky above as no man had before. With the sight, comes a derailment, an unhinging that follows experiencing something miraculous, something the human mind wasn’t made for.
In his flight, the father never looks back. Nor up, nor down. He flies a steady course, bent on his destination and his victory. He fails Icarus then, worse than other failures before. He is not a father, with his watchful eye on his fledgling son, anxious to see his first flight come to a safe end.
Feathers slip, wax melts, runs down Icarus’ shoulders, and back, and feet. He is suspended for an endless moment, feet kicking, arms flailing, yearning for still greater heights, and he doesn’t know yet it is already over. It’s hard to tell if he ever really knew.
What we know is that Icarus still flew. And that for a moment, the Sun knew of him too.
He died rapturous, with a chest full of fire and a head full of sea. It suddenly didn’t seem odd at all, or tragic when he fell. He had been smiling the entire time.
The poet then went on to draw a line between Daedelus and the original Homestead project, which failed for similar reasons of vanity and ambition. Icarus was its redemption, even though it still bore the scars and burdens of some bad lessons from the past. This was their chance to retell the myth for an age that was yet to come.
You found that you were fond of the tale and symbolism of Icarus in a new way, nearing understanding against all reason how he could fly straight into his own destruction. The sights you experienced were nothing you could put into words or even process in your heart, but you knew now the disappearing, the unraveling of that fragile, feigned construct of self, that comes with awe and the sort of complete surrender that comes without demand or resistance.
A thought struck you - you would have liked to contact this author. Had you known of him earlier, or followed the story of Homestead more closely before it became your job to do so… Madness lay down that path; considering the could have been’s, and you deliberately chose not to. Still, you noted down the name and put the story as far out of mind as you could, before leaving to rejoin Julian in bed.
*
“Where have you been?”
You nearly jumped out of your skin and clapped your hand over your mouth as a hissing gasp escaped you. Julian rolled lazily onto his side and watched you with amused eyes as you thumped against the door in relief and dissolved into laughter.
“I thought you were asleep,” you uncovered your mouth and lowered your hand over your chest, feeling the erratic racing of your heart.
“I was. You must have been out for a while,” he stretched and his body slithered under the sheets, flexing and gradually relaxing. He didn’t sound bothered, but you realized then a part of you had been silently wondering how he would react if you pulled back, needed some time alone. It wasn’t an immediate concern, given that you had no real desire to be more than a few feet away from him for the foreseeable future. But it was a question that would need to be answered at some point. For now, he appeared to be his usual, irresistible self.
“I guess I must have. It’s a bit odd, trying to estimate how much time elapses without a little cheat sheet on your wrist.”
“Mmh,” he hummed contentedly, eyes closed, arms crossed behind his head. You let your eyes unabashedly rove over the flex of his biceps, his laterals expanding like wings and pectorals bulging as he settled into a comfortable position. A weaker woman than you might have missed his words entirely. “When they did isolation tests, people lost track of time so much sooner than expected. One guy was supposed to stay in a deprivation chamber for one hundred days. When they came to get him, he thought he wasn’t even halfway through.”
You frowned and felt a chill run through you.
Deprivation chambers tested a lot of different things. Things that seemed utterly inhumane to you at first blush, until they were put into the context of space travel and hibernation pods.
Most chambers were in total darkness, while some were soundproof to such a degree that subjects became hyperaware of their organs contracting, food being digested, blood rushing through their vascular system. In some cases, they had occasional audio check-ins with the medical team, or they got brief interactions with the maintenance crew bringing them fresh supplies.
Other studies, on the effects of prolonged isolation, had no such contact. Subjects invariably started hallucinating within days of their confinement. Some reported movies playing in their heads, half-remembered and half-invented versions of beloved classics and modern blockbusters. Others still were visited by long-dead relatives or made up members of the team informing them about all sorts of news, like system failures, strange reports about their health, or news about the world – some of which were eerily accurate to what was actually going on at the time in the real world. It was well-documented by then hallucinations registered in the brain exactly the same as real events and memories. As harrowing as that thought was, it was of little concern to the studies. A small number of files was classified and not made available to you, so you could only guess at what happened with those subjects.
“Did it mess him up?” you asked, not trying to hide your attitude towards this human experimentation, nor your expectation that the answer was affirmative. Julian knew you well enough by now to be unfazed by both.
“Yup,” he chose not to elaborate much, biting the inside of his cheek.
Rather than contemplate a matter where you knew you wouldn’t receive satisfying answers, you pushed off the door and sank into bed, head on your pillow, leg hooked around Julian’s. He turned onto his side to face you with a handsome, lazy smile.
“I wanted to read up on Icarus, the name specifically. There was this lovely article I vaguely remembered when the project was announced talking about why the name was chosen,” Julian smiled in recognition and shook his head fondly. “You know it? I found it, it was written by someone called Gerald Hoffman--”
“Yeah, Gerry was a rare bird. He was an instructor when I met him, and he made it onto the Scientific Working Group that was assembling the Icarus project. He could drink you under the table and write a poem that would make a stone cry.”
“So you knew him? Worked with him?”
“Yeah, right up until the company got swiped from under all of us. That article you read, about myths and whatnot, and what Icarus was supposed to represent, it was some real Jerry Maguire shit. You know how at the start, he writes this heartfelt memo and it gets passed around?”
You nodded, wrapped up in the pleasant timbre of his raspy voice and the unexpected bit of serendipity that Julian knew the man who wrote such a touching piece.
“And everyone cheers him on, and they’re so moved, so supportive.” His face fell, as though shadows obscured his earlier warm expression and he rubbed his eyes. “It actually played out pretty much the same as in the movie. When money was on the line, almost everyone turned away. They might have supported or admired the vision, but the choice was either do it right, but slow, or fast and dirty. The wheels came off pretty soon after that. The company was taken over, gutted, populated with sycophants and only kept the bright eyed, moralistic veneer that people like Gerry left behind. He was stripped of any actual power, but kept on the board so they could use his reputation and way with words.”
“Do you think he’s… still awake?”
Julian smiled at the euphemism. “Sorry, honey, I have to assume he’s gone. He was close to 40 when I was a recruit, and in his 50s when the first mission launched. I’d say Gerry was close to 70 before Icarus left. And we’re more than 30 years on.”
You felt your mouth pull into a tight line. The issue of Icarus’ trajectory and timeline was expertly dodged at all times. You’d agreed on it early on and stuck to it. The weight of its reemergence pressed all around and you lay in the first uncompanionable silence since you started sharing a bed. It seemed to drive a wedge between you even as you touched each other, resting almost nose to nose. You flailed for any words to dispel the awful silence.
“I know men famously hate the question, but – what are you thinking?”
Julian’s eyes were still trained on some distance, unfocused and hazy. He gave a crooked smile as he blinked the thoughts away. “I was just thinking that if I wished for anyone to beat the odds and be blessed with a long and happy life, it would be Gerry. He might be the only man of integrity I ever knew who actually rose to power and influence. He genuinely made things better for his crew and had his heart in the right place.” Then the bitterness he tried hard to suppress steeled his expression again. “And what he got for it was his dream snatched away and destroyed.”
You responded with a gentle hand on his cheek.
He put his brave face back on and nuzzled into the touch. “Looking back now, I wish I had said a better goodbye. Something more than a single-page letter expressing my gratitude and admiration more sedately than the man deserved. I just hope my behavior was indicative of the true breadth of the respect I had for him.”
It felt like a crude, unsophisticated form of language, flinging yourself into him and soothing the aches away skin-to-skin.
So many wounds were still fresh, pulsing under bloody stitches, and they predated even his torments aboard the Icarus, and a guilty part of you felt like you just dug your fingers in and ripped them open. As base as it may have been, it worked. You needed to overwhelm a troubled mind in the best way you knew how, and currently, this was it.
You straddled him, chest to chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Julian slid inside you with familiar ease, pausing as you adjusted to the length of him settling inside you. Like a rehearsed dance, he waited for your splayed limbs to come wrapping around him and anchor you both, he inside you, you around him. You were attuned to every twitch of his body in that moment, aware of how close you clung to one another. It was in moments like these you realized how often you were overcome with starvation and greed for him, gorging on his body mindlessly, like a senseless animal. Countless encounters blended together, like nights spent drinking yourself insensate, so they all formed a hazy blur, indistinguishable from each other.
You formed your rhythm, gliding up and down in his hold, enjoying the trembling exertion. His breath came out in hard pants against your neck with each deliberate stroke. You answered with your own groans, low and deep, and moved faster, slamming harder down and bouncing back sharply. Julian grew quieter then, breathing harshly through his long nose, a sure sign he was getting close. He reached between your legs and searched the top of your mound with the tips of his fingers. He smiled like a fox feeling you keen against him and stutter in your rhythm when they found the source of your pleasure. He rolled you swiftly onto your back, stroking you in time with each thrust, as your body writhed under his. When you started to bow under him and shut your eyes, he lightly pinched and rolled it between two fingers, sending lightning bolts through your body.
You wanted to tease and ask how many women he’d practiced that move with before, but were too busy being grateful for his ingenuity and the little surprises he pulled on you here and there, making you see stars and startle at how much you appreciated them.
He rolled off of you and caught his breath bit by bit, still coming down from the high. You loved the look of self-satisfaction that hid right under the placid exterior of his face in moments like these, where you could tell how much he was gloating and congratulating himself on his performance. It was entirely possible you loved a lot more than that, you admitted to yourself and shook your head once to get the thought out.
His sides were highly sensitive, you’d come to learn, as he twitched like a horse, large muscles rippling out everywhere when you ran the tips of your fingers from his shoulders to his waist. You did it then, just to amuse yourself, and the bed shook as he shuddered and groan in weak protest. You were undeterred, though, tracing invisible paths from the smatterings of freckles and moles clustered on patches of his skin, following blank, creamy trails with just one or two darker spots to the next cluster.
Involved in your work, you didn’t notice when he opened his eyes and started following your movements. When you finally did, you smiled in response to the lazy grin that spread over his face and just kept on going.
“What?” he asked, craning his neck to see where you were reaching.
“You have a lot of birthmarks,” you said non-committally, and kept the comment about the deliciousness of his skin under your touch and on your tongue to yourself.
“They’re beauty spots, thank you very much,” he corrected unselfconsciously and closed his eyes again, soaking in your touch.
“Oh, so you must think you’re very beautiful then,” you rolled your eyes.
“I think you might,” he shot back and grinned when he felt your hands come to a halt.
You pushed on his face in response and felt him snort a laugh against your palm before letting yourself be pulled into him, his chest resting against your back.
*
They sat in the enormity of the mess hall, both wearing loosely tied bathrobes. For a while now, it didn’t seem worth the effort to get fully dressed when it was just a matter of time - and a short while at that – before the clothes would come flying off. With limited supplies for repairing any tears and torn buttons, it seemed wiser to spare what they had lying around.
She was looking down at her plate, food half-eaten, and her gaze grew unfocused as she zoned out for a while. Mills chewed his food quietly, admiring the faraway look. Gradually, she started to return and cocked her head thoughtfully.
“Have you been getting any work done recently?” she asked like she was remembering some long-abandoned childhood friend whose name suddenly came back to her with a flurry of memories that had the feeling of another life.
Mills shook his head. “Been preoccupied lately,” he replied through a mouthful of food.
“Yeah, I don’t think it occurred to me at all until today,” her eyes were still distant and watery. “You should take that as a compliment, by the way,” she snapped back then and straightened, returning her attention to her meal.
“I definitely do,” he smiled back, but he could feel it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Mills could sense the end of this pleasure approaching. He knew the curve well, having experienced it before, when it was just him. That having no rules, no goals, nothing but dessert for every meal leaves you empty and starved. It couldn’t last forever, no matter how much they both might have wished for it. Even this one drop, slipping quietly into the ocean, would send out ripples, reaching them no matter where they tried to hide. The spell was broken, even as they both made a silent pact to ignore it. They remembered who they were and where, and they would have to face up to it.
He could worry about her resenting him in the future for wasting time, neglecting his promise to work tirelessly on some solution, or wallow in his constant failures to be better – but why suffer twice? He would pay for it all, eventually.
For now, he was determined to get the most out of this honeymoon period.
*
Sometime later – what he estimated to be a few days – Mills woke up to find her sitting up in bed, reading something on her pad. It was oddly startling to see her in any form of clothing after so much time of only donning sheets and bathrobes to shuffle into the bathroom or get something to eat. Her expression was pinched in focus and she was rolling the cuff of her cable knit sweater between her fingers absently. The sight made him oddly sad.
“Working on something?” he attempted a breezy tone.
She flinched and looked up at him as though he had caught her doing something wrong.
“Sort of. Easing back into some stuff. I’m reading these old notes I took – it almost feels like a different life.”
“Can I look forward to more interviews?” Mills flipped his hair out of his face and leaned closer. “I’m starting to feel like some washed-up has-been, with my time in the spotlight come and gone. You don’t want any more inside dirt?”
She smiled indulgently and put her pad down in her lap. It shouldn’t have felt like a victory, but the small, selfish part of him was pleased. “You know, for once I think I’ve been too happy to nag and complain.”
“Is that right? And what’s been making you so happy?” he arched a brow and slithered closer as she started to stretch and close the distance between them.
“Just some washed-up has-been,” she shrugged and touched her lips to his with a smile.
“He sounds really charming and very endowed,” he deepened the kiss and drew her closer.
She giggled and fell against his chest. “Like you wouldn’t believe. So all my big ideas about an exposé sort of fell by the wayside.”
“Mmh, well… If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans, right?” he murmured into the kiss and she stilled.
“What?” she gave a curious little frown at his phrasing.
Icy panic stabbed along his spine. He’d heard her say it so many times before, replayed in her video diaries, it felt like an inside joke. Only it wasn’t.
Familiar guilt twisted in his guts; something he had almost forgotten about under a mountain of slow, lazy kisses, tongues coiling warmly, pistoning into her until he was drenched and shaking, and her eyes were watering. But the thing bode its time, patient like an ancient predator, waiting out the heat and the cold and triumphs of its prey, knowing they all eventually fall into its jaws.
She didn’t seem to think anything of his startled silence and blanched expression. “Huh, I say that all the time, I didn’t realize I mentioned it to you before.” He felt a cold sweat lick up and down his body. “Ugh, god, I must be repeating myself already,” she shook her head at herself and looked away. “Settle in - I’m going to talk your ear off, and you’ll get sick and tired of all my gimmicks and faux-profound insights.”
He was the pathetic creep and he was making her feel self-conscious. He could stab himself in the skull with frustration.
“No, god, no!” he reached urgently for her, pulling her back, tighter than before. He looked her deep in the eyes and kissed her, hard. “Never,” he kissed her again, still without a proper response from her. “Not in a million years,” the kiss deepened and she relaxed against him. He was winning her over; her anxious expression dissolving under his lips and his hand inching up her thigh. “Never,” Mills assured again and they roll together deeper into bed, where he set about persuading her of his unending interest with every inch of his body.
*
Clyde was helpful with locating your discarded watch and making sure it was telling time correctly. A gesture both grounding and profoundly ridiculous - coordinating with a distant planet you would never visit again. But it felt like a first step in a return to what felt like normalcy, discipline, order.
You couldn’t have begun to guess how long you’d spent in your vortex with Julian. But the ever-punctual and informative Clyde easily proclaimed it had been 21 weeks and some change. Close to half a year of fucking any which way, laughing till you cried, and otherwise staving off desperation with idle pleasure. You thought back to Julian and the isolation study he mentioned. You too, much like those subjects, would have incorrectly estimated the time you frittered away to have been shorter. Happy, pleasurable hours fly by fast, so it was no wonder. You indulged beyond anything you would have previously imagined or even wanted. It was liberating and it almost certainly saved you from some dark places.
Then one day you woke up and found you couldn’t do it anymore.
An itch burrowed around your body and mind, demanding to be scratched. You wanted to feel productive, to activate. Use your body and your mind as opposed to just letting it passively receive indulgences.
“The greatest pleasures are only narrowly separated from disgust,” Clyde offered sagely after you shared your thoughts with him, eyes on the glass he was polishing even though you were sure it was already perfectly pristine.
You gave a small huff in response. “Epictetus?” you frowned, trying to recall the quote.
“Close,” he gave an encouraging smile, like a patient teacher. “His was that if one oversteps the bounds of moderation, the greatest pleasures cease to please. The first one was Cicero.”
You nodded, sure you would soon get them mixed up in your head again. “Well, they’re largely in agreement, at least.”
Something about your tone made his face droop slightly and try a different approach. “There’s other schools of thought, if ya’d prefer.”
“You’re very accommodating, but I didn’t come to be coddled,” you sighed and gave him a fond look. You’d had your fun messing with him alongside Julian, and you could easily justify it as harmless pranks. But he occasionally tricked you into forgetting he wasn’t human, with the same fragile sensitivities that plagued you. Despite his compassion and kindness coming from programming and a factory line, rather than generations of socialization, he still endeavored to make you feel comforted. You suddenly had a strong urge to hug him. Instead, you opted to wrap up your conversation. “I was right – everything I wanted to say had already been said hundreds of years before I ever thought it.”
Clyde nodded with a convincingly executed rendition of a knowing smile. “Yer probably right, but it’s still sweet to hear it from you, if you’ll forgive me for sharin’ Mills’ observation.”
“Hm?” you paused as you leaned away from the bar and turned back to face him.
“That’s what Mills said when you were discussing your career and abandoning writing. That he finds it captivatin’ the way you put things even if you consider they were said before. And then later, havin’ met you and talked to ya myself, I tend to agree.”
“Oh.” You hummed and found yourself pausing again. Enough of what Clyde said made some sort of sense. It’s not like Julian talking about you was anything outlandish – what else was there really to discuss on this doomed tin can? But Clyde had met you long before you ever confided in Julian about any private thoughts, like the painful choice to let one career go in favor of another. Your gut twisted dully, and you couldn’t really pinpoint why.
Perhaps Clyde was just having another tiny malfunction, not recalling the sequence of events in perfect succession. That in itself wasn’t particularly good news given how much of your journey remained. The likelihood of things sorting themselves out and these malfunctions ceasing without some serious outside help was vanishingly small.
*
You wandered the ship for a while afterwards, finding that the unease that settled inside you didn’t go away as easily as you had secretly been hoping it would.
Not only that, but you had to admit, after going in circles around the Concourse and completing several aimless loops, that you didn’t feel up to probing into that heavy feeling. Like finding a lump, hard and painful, under an accidental, cursory touch and at first avoiding the spot before becoming ready to allow the full pain of it to be felt.
You took a few random turns, still contemplating whether you preferred to throw yourself back into work or seek some delicious, mind-numbing distraction from Julian. The quandary was resolved for you when your ears picked up the sporadic sounds of tools.
You found Julian in what you affectionately dubbed his tinkering corridor, the place where he hoarded all his scavenged tools and equipment. He was engrossed in reading a well-thumbed manual, occasionally picking up some implement and inspecting it before setting it down and burying his sizeable nose back into the pages in front of him, stained black in places from his greased up fingertips.
When he sensed eyes on him, he looked up and used the back of his forearm to swipe across his forehead and move the hair out of his face, gazing at you silently, responding in kind to your own quiet contemplation.
After a long, fond look, you half-surprised yourself with your request. “Let me miss you a little bit.”
“What do you mean?” he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, almost smiling.
You took in a steadying breath, still wondering how a fully formed plan had materialized in your head from one moment to the next. “I think it would be good for us – really exciting – to take some time apart, and then meet up again. We can confine ourselves in separate parts of the ship. We would get a lot done and get back into the groove of things that doesn’t just include tumbling around between sheets. As much fun as that undeniably is.”
“For how long?” he asked frowning a little, despite the compliment you tacked on at the end. To placate him, you realized.
“Two days.”
“Two days?” he balked as though you suggested two years instead.
The best thing to do in a negotiation was to stay silent. It usually forced the other party to cede ground, or at least open up the lines of communication. It was a dirty bit of advice you came upon from one of the sleazy bastards you had the displeasure of working with while auditing Homestead’s crew. But you knew it was effective and it worked now.
“Fine,” Julian finally shrugged. “I guess you’re right, but my head wasn’t in that space at all before you brought it up.”
You couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your chest, seeing him deflate and rationalize, but you were too excited to re-experience time alone.
“It’ll be great, I’m sure of it,” you encouraged as he got to his feet and dusted himself off.
“The tinkering corridor is mine, obviously,” he rolled his eyes, getting straight down to business.
“Our cabins, too, of course, are out of bounds. I’ll need the comms room.”
He pondered, weighing if he would need it for work.
“The observation deck, too,” you added hastily.
“I thought you were planning on working,” he arched a brow.
“I am. I do my best work in good ambiance.”
“Fine. Then I get the Concourse.”
You suppressed an eye-roll. It was petty, and he was just asking for it to ask. “Okay. I’ll stock up on food, so I won’t be going to the mess hall.”
“You thought of everything, it seems,” he wrapped an arm around your waist with a crooked smile, but you still sensed something in his choice of words. “Alright, then,” he sighed, eyeing you up and down openly, and you felt an instant heat pooling deep inside in response. “Goodbye, juicy ass,” he said despondently as his large hand squeezed your backside, deeply and deliberately. “Goodbye, soft bosom,” his free hand opened the sides of your shirt to peer inside at your chest. “Pretty, dirty mouth,” he whispered as he leaned in, teasing you with his full lips before capturing you in a kiss. “I think I’ll miss you most of all.”
You were coming undone fast, pressed up against his warm, firm body, his tongue maddening in your mouth. Despite your panting breaths and undoubtedly stupid expression, you tried to play cool and laughed. “Go on, get out of my sight, you dirty old man.”
Warnings/ Tags: Arguments, mention of death, dinosaurs, might be smut if I make a part two, kinda rambling, idk I just wanted to write a story and build a character
Summary: You are a stowaway on Commander Mill's passenger ship, The Zoic Exploratory Charter 3703. Your Cryopod is the only one that made it, but he can’t find your ID tag and soon discovers the truth.
Word Count: 5,948
Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3
You awoke with a start, the sound of an alarm blaring like a siren, jarring your senses, while bright, erratic lights flashed harshly in your eyes. Panic surged through you like a tidal wave, and you scratched frantically at the cold glass in front of you, realising you were trapped in a claustrophobic box barely bigger than your body. A primal fear gripped your chest as you struggled for breath, clawing desperately at the glass that held you in this suffocating tomb, feeling the slickness of sweat on your palms. Flashing red lights cast ominous shadows around you as frantic text sprawled across the glass beneath your trembling hands, the ringing in your ears becoming a dull roar, until a robotic, tinny voice sliced through the chaos, cold and uncaring.
As the fog of sleep began to fall away, you began to remember where you were. It wasn’t a tomb or a coffin, and you weren’t here against your will. You were in a Cryo-chamber that should have been aboard a ship bound for the colonies, yet everything felt wrong. From what you could see outside the small, smudged window, a world of darkness loomed, and it looked as though you hadn’t reached your destination. A sinking feeling settled in your stomach as you feared the worst, the reality of being lost in space creeping up on you.
An alarm blared inside the chamber, so deafeningly loud it threatened to split your mind in two. Desperate, you struggled to cover your ears, bashing your elbows painfully against the sides of the cramped, padded chamber. A shadow flitted across the glass, but in your panic, you couldn’t decipher what, or who, it was. Your vision swam, spots of darkness dancing in front of your eyes as each breath felt heavier, teetering on the brink of being your last. Then, a sharp pop of electrics pierced the air and a hissing white smoke invaded, stinging your lungs with its acrid presence. You coughed, gasping futilely for air, the smoke swirling like a living nightmare. Frantically, you clawed at the glass again, your mind racing for the emergency procedure your friend had instructed, but you couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. The world spun dizzily, the pressure building until everything collapsed into an all-consuming blackness.
You shifted restlessly in bed, tugging the blanket closer against the biting chill of the morning air. Burrowing deeper under the covers, a sudden icy shiver raced down your spine, jolting you into immediate wakefulness. You sat up abruptly, eyes wide open, taking in the surrounding disarray, a room cluttered with half-broken electronics, scattered tools, and a lone computer flickering to the left. Instinctively, you moved to rub your eyes, only to collide with something strange, a mask secured across your mouth. Confused and slightly panicked, you yanked it off, the action releasing a sharp hiss from the small device. Staring at it in your hands, the realisation dawned upon you, this was an oxygen mask. Your gaze darted around, focusing upwards and to the right, where brilliant golden sunlight streamed through a little window, illuminating the room with a surreal glow. With legs still heavy with fatigue, you swung them over the bed’s edge, attempting to stand as a sudden wave of nausea engulfed you. Clinging to the bed’s edge, you gulped down air, eyes squeezed shut to ward off the spinning room. Fragmented memories clawed their way back, haunting visions of the Cryo-chamber and the suffocating smoke.
You glanced around, confusion thick in your mind, realising with a murmur of disbelief that you couldn't have ended up back here on your own. A sudden clang echoed through the ship's metallic hallways, causing your heart to leap. Standing up on unsteady legs, you shuffled over to the cupboard to the left, just before the door. Your hands searched through the clutter, eventually finding a large, bulky jacket, clearly made for someone with a larger build, perhaps a man. You draped it over your shoulders, feeling its unfamiliar weight, and pushed the door release button. The door opened with a mechanical hiss, and you cautiously poked your head into the corridor outside, casting furtive glances to the right and left. Hesitantly, you stepped out, discovering you were on what seemed to be the bridge of the ship. The door slid shut behind you with a soft thud, making you jump again. Turning around, your eyes caught the letters emblazoned on the door. You reached out, fingertips brushing over the words 'Commander's Quarters,'
“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath, snapping your head left and right.
Moving quickly, you approached the solitary chair opposite what you presumed were the ship's controls, which bore the scars of a turbulent descent. Electrical pops crackled from some frayed wires to your left, while the console before you lay utterly lifeless. To your left, however, flickered the only screen that seemed to hold any semblance of life: the status panel for the Cryo chambers. It methodically scrolled through the chambers housed within the ship, each one glowing a menacing shade of red.
You didn’t know what had happened, but you knew one thing for sure. You had to get out of here before whoever had rescued you came back. If they really were the Commander of the ship, then they wouldn’t take too kindly to the only survivor being a stowaway. An illegal Cryo chamber stored in the back of the ship where there should only have been supplies.
You tapped on the computer screen, grateful that it was a model you were somewhat acquainted with, and selected the icon for the surrounding terrain. A question mark lingered beside the planet's name, but you brushed it off and swiftly scanned through the planet’s composition. The atmosphere seemed breathable, and the climate bore resemblance to the planet you had known growing up. As you scrolled, a notification appeared, prompting you to click on it. It revealed the location of one of the escape pods. Another creak echoed through the ship, and you froze, fearing for a moment that whoever had rescued you had returned. When no further sounds followed, you cautiously stood, striving to commit the map to the escape pod to memory. You had to find a way out of here.
You walked quickly, stopping only long enough in front of the door that separated the Commander's quarters from the rest of the ship for it to open. Then you moved quickly down the gangway, heading towards the back of the ship. To your left and right there should have been Cryopods, but each of the capsules were empty. It made you wonder how hard the landing must have been for the ship to decide the Cryopods would be safer making landfall by themselves.
Your focus lingered on the vacant Cryopods, oblivious to the rising water, until gentle splashes reverberated throughout the expansive chamber, urging you to glance down at your feet. The water was a murky brown, reminiscent of a muddy puddle or a pond, or so you surmised, having never seen an actual body of water. Life in an early colony had kept the sun's warmth a stranger to you, as the smog from terraforming machinery perpetually chocked the atmosphere. With a sigh, your gaze shifted to the door leading to the world beyond. The water lapped at the edge of the ramp where you stood. You had no idea how deep it was or more importantly what was in it.
Letting out a deep sigh, you turned and made your way back into the commander’s quarters. Placing your hands on your hips, you surveyed the small space, hoping to find an emergency exit through which you could climb up and out the top of the ship, praying that water hadn’t entirely encircled it. Your gaze fell upon the symbol for weapons, prompting you to step forward and grasp the handle. Nothing happened. You pulled again, this time with greater force, and the panel above the cupboard illuminated red, revealing a message.
“Unauthorised access.” The robotic voice from before bellowed.
With a resigned sigh, you let your hand fall from the handle, anxiously nibbling your lip. The thought of hacking the software crossed your mind, yet the real problem was the lack of time, not ability. Turning away, you faced the ladder, placing your hands on the rung level with your head, eyes tracing up towards the ceiling where the hatch beckoned at the top. Casting a final, searching glance around the vessel, you found nothing of use and began to ascend the ladder with care.
The door loomed heavy in front of you, a stubborn obstacle between you and freedom. The ship was so badly damaged that the hydraulics, meant to open it with ease, failed miserably, leaving you in an awkward position. You jabbed at the button to release it, only to be met with an unsatisfying hiss and the button turning a mocking shade of red. Frustration simmered inside you, and with clenched jaw, you reached for the handle labeled ‘manual release,’ the letters worn from years of use. Standing on a precarious ladder, really just square cutouts in the wall, with barely enough space for the top of your boot, you found the task daunting. The earlier flood of water made your grip slippery and the climb treacherous. Yet, determined, you climbed, cursing the entire time and muttering prayers to gods you never believed in. After what felt like an eternity, your perseverance paid off as you pushed the handle up and over. The door heaved open with a satisfying clunk, hitting the top of the ship and allowing a sliver of light to pierce through the darkness.
The light was harsh, flooding your senses in an overwhelming deluge as you squinted into the newfound brightness. You dared not thrust more than the crown of your head through the narrow opening. Blinking rapidly, your eyes gradually adjusted, allowing you to take in the scene. To your astonishment, you discovered that the ship’s stern remained afloat, yet the bow rested firmly upon a sandbank. Relief coursed through you; escape seemed viable after all. Clinging to the jagged exterior, you calculated your descent along the fractured hull. Every step was precarious, but hope was a powerful motivator. Below, the escape pod beckoned, a beacon of salvation amid the wreckage.
After ten minutes of wandering, every direction had begun to look the same, and you realised you were completely lost. The environment surrounding you was foreign and unsettling. Towering trees stretched upwards, their dense canopy blotting out the sunlight, casting eerie shadows on the forest floor. In any other situation, the sight of so much green might have filled you with wonder, but now it only fuelled a growing sense of dread. The trees seemed to form an endless, impenetrable maze, their rough bark and sprawling roots turning the simplest path into a twisting, treacherous journey. The ground itself was uneven, punctuated by sudden dips and rises that made it almost impossible to keep your bearings. Each step felt like a gamble, the threat of a hidden root or loose stone ready to trip you up. Back home, the landscape was flat and predictable. Though you hadn't ventured far on foot before, you were used to orderly paths, straight lines meticulously cut into the earth to accommodate the workers moving to and from the farms efficiently.
A sharp crack of a twig snapping jarred you from your spiralling thoughts, yanking you back to the chilling reality. The shadowy forest had been alive with whispers, unsettling murmurs since your feet touched its floor, but none had felt this dangerously close before. Every instinct screamed at you to melt into silence, invisibility your only ally. From the depths of looming shadows came a shiver-inducing rustle, each footstep crunching against the brittle, leaf-carpeted earth as though the darkness prowled closer. Your heart hammered, an insistent drumbeat, forcing adrenaline through your veins. Every hair on your neck stood at rigid attention, a silent sentinel. With painstaking care, you eased your footsteps, each shift deliberates, ghost-like, until you were nestled beside a tree with bark rough against your back like armour. A dense bush nearby promised meagre shelter, a refuge slim and frail. You forced your breath into shallow, measured whispers, your lungs battling the urge to gulp air desperately. You tried to breathe slowly and quietly, fighting the urge to close your eyes, some childish part of your brain reasoning that if you couldn’t see it, then whatever was out there couldn’t see you.
As the crunch of twigs and leaves echoed through the heavy air, the sound grew closer, sharpening your senses to their limits. It was as if the unseen entity were mirroring your desperate attempt at silence, creeping cautiously as though it were aware of your presence. The forest was alive with the symphony of its movements, each crack and rustle amplified in the stillness, weighing heavily on your heart. You could almost feel the tension in the air, thick with anticipation, as you fought to compose yourself, knowing that whatever lurked ahead was moving with a calculated stealth that could rival your own. You felt as though you were being hunted.
With a sudden, jarring motion, the very bush you had counted on for cover was yanked away, exposing you to the daylight. Your heart skipped, expecting a monster, but instead, the figure that loomed in its place was far more unsettling, a man. His silhouette was familiar yet foreign, as the Commander of the ship stood before you, a weapon clutched in hands that looked neither welcoming nor hostile, just ready. His face, framed by the ghostly underbrush, mirrored your shock—eyes wide, jaw tense, as if he had stumbled upon a spectre. Time seemed to stop in that breathless stare; two worlds collided, both marooned in mutual disbelief. The spell broke as your instincts screamed louder. You spun away from him, adrenaline flooding your veins as you bolted, each stride an urgent leap over fallen timber, heedless of direction. All that mattered was the distance, the precious separation between you and the man who had emerged from the shadows with a gun.
“Hey, hey! Wait!” His voice cut through the frenzied air, urgent yet tinged with confusion, a desperate plea that echoed in your ears. It reached out to you across the space between, ricocheting off the trees, mingling with your racing heartbeat. Each syllable tugged at something deep within, a mix of fear and bewilderment that sent a shiver down your spine. But you couldn’t stop. You dared not stop.
"Stop!" His voice pierced the air once more, alarmingly nearer than before, carrying with it an intensity that quickened your pace into a frenzy. Each footfall behind you resonated like a drumbeat, urging your legs to move faster, as every echoing step seemed to gain on you. The world around blurred into a disarray of shadows and sounds, as the urgency gripped you like an iron vice, refusing to relent. It felt as if the forest itself conspired to slow you down, branches clawing at your path while your instincts screamed for you to forge ahead, unyielding, unstoppable.
Panic thrummed through your veins, unused to the relentless pace, especially over such treacherous ground—roots like claws, mud eager to betray each step. Suddenly, the earth disappeared before you, a hidden dip swallowing your momentum, sending you tumbling headlong into the earth’s embrace. The crash was immediate, air stolen from your lungs as shadows danced dizzyingly. From behind, a guttural sound broke through your shock, a grunt. The Commander, in his relentless pursuit, had too been surprised by the treacherous terrain, plunging down with you.
He landed with a thud in front of you, sprawled on his back against the gnarled tree, while you remained flat, face first against the forest floor. For a fleeting moment, you braced yourself, ready for him to speak, but his gaze flickered past you, drawn to something beyond. As your own eyes followed, the air thickened with a putrid scent, reminiscent of the hot composters back home, a foul reminder of decay and abandonment. You recoiled slightly, the stench clawing at your throat. He pushed himself upright, and you mirrored his movements, hearts pounding in sync as you both stared at the grotesque sight before you, a massive dead animal lay sprawled in the dirt, its features obscured by dirt and foliage. The silence around you felt heavy, pressing in on all sides, amplifying the reality of what lay just feet away. You found yourself wondering how such a large creature could die, and how big the animal that killed it was.
A deep, primal roar shattered the air behind you, a sound so powerful it reverberated in your bones, demanding your immediate attention. Your silent question of what could have killed the monster next to you was answered. You and the commander were jerked back to the terrifying present, as if waking from a deceptive dream. It was a roar that left no room for misinterpretation—a force of nature announcing its dominance. The oppressive air vibrated with each thundering footfall that approached, the ground beneath your feet trembling as if alive, the trees shivering in fear themselves, groaning under the immense weight of an unseen entity. The fleeting anxiety of moments ago escalated into full-blown terror at the unknown horror advancing relentlessly. Rocks cascaded down the hill towards you, dislodged by the sheer force, prompting you to instinctively step back, eyes darting to the gun on the commander's back. You felt as though every breath was borrowed, and each heartbeat echoed with the urgency of survival, your body screaming for action as dread wrapped icy fingers around your heart.
A strong hand grabbed your jacket, pulling you away just as the creature came into sight at the top of the hill. Without stopping, he dragged you along, making sure you understood the need to run. Side by side, you both took off, feet pounding against the ground. You followed him, trusting his lead even though you didn’t know which way you were going, just knowing you had to get away.
“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice echoing slightly as he began clattering through the compartments around the galley. The sparsely lit space hummed with the ship's underlying mechanical rhythm, a low background noise of whirring fans and intermittent beeps. Stainless-steel surfaces reflected the dim lighting, and the scent of antiseptic and stale air lingered. Offering a semblance of order among the chaotic assortment of supplies, the cupboards held a jumble of ration packs and maintenance tools. He turned to look at you when you didn’t answer, his eyes searching yours under the muted lights. “Your name?” he pressed again, placing a water bottle, covered in residual condensation, down on the metal counter.
The realisation hit like a sudden wave, an awareness of the deep thirst that had quietly crept up on you, now palpable in the parched texture of your tongue. Your eyes fixated on the bottle, droplets of condensation glistening tantalisingly in the dim light, its contents promising relief. Silence stretched between you both.
“Okay,” he said, as he dragged another chair with an audible scrape, positioning it firmly in front of you. His movements were deliberate, as if establishing a careful balance of power in the room. “Let’s find out who you are.” He clattered a tray down on the metal table beside you, the sound echoing sharply in the otherwise still air. The tray boasted an array of disorganised tools and devices, gleaming under the muted lights, all speaking of functionality over comfort. “What’s your passenger number?” he asked brusquely, flipping open a worn logbook. His fingers moved deftly, skimming over pages yellowed with age, yet his eyes never strayed far from watching your reaction.
You clenched your jaw as you looked at him but again didn’t say anything. He was pretty, not what you had expected; his features striking and almost delicate, framed by the soft glow of the dim lighting. His warm brown eyes held a depth that seemed to reflect an understanding beyond his years, while his long hair fell just above his shoulders in gentle waves, catching the light and giving him an almost ethereal quality. He was young too, possibly around your age, which made the situation feel all the more surreal. The facial hair he sported had once seemed neatly groomed, but now it bore the marks of neglect, suggesting he hadn’t bothered to tidy it up for a few days, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise pretty face. There was an air of vulnerability about him, yet also an undeniable strength that intrigued you despite your anxiety.
He flipped through the book with practiced ease, the pages whispering secrets from their timeworn edges before he snapped it shut, his gaze returning to you with a hint of curiosity and suspicion. “There wasn’t a number on your pod, and it was an older model,” he stated, his voice carrying the weight of someone piecing together a fragmented puzzle. The room seemed to grow still, the ambient hum of the ship fading into the background as if giving way to the weight of his revelation. “If I didn’t know any better, then I would say that you aren’t where you’re supposed to be.” His eyes narrowed slightly, deepening the shadows that danced across his features, as though he was trying to decipher your mystery, weighing options and consequences in the silence that hung between you.
You clenched your jaw once more, your gaze drifting down to your hand, with a mixture of frustration and pain simmering beneath your skin. The cut was jagged and raw, stretching defiantly along the side of your hand, a result of falling into the hole where the creature lay lifeless. The wound had started to scab over, a thin, fragile shield barely holding the skin together, yet each subtle movement sent fresh pinpricks of crimson welling up, tiny beads of blood blossoming along the wound like cruel little flowers.
“Let me look at your hand,” he said, his voice calm yet insistent as he reached towards you. You instinctively pulled away, cradling your injured hand with the other, a scowl darkening your features. The thought of anyone touching the tender, throbbing wound was unbearable, and your eyes held a mix of defiance and vulnerability.
“My name is Mills. I was the pilot of this ship. I was transporting Cryopods and supplies to the new colonies before we crashed. You have been in Cryostasis for,” he signed. “A long time.” He held out his hand to you, and reluctantly you placed your injured hand in his palm. “The navigation system is gone. I don’t know where we are. It’s uncharted.” He continued as he carefully turned your hand and with his free hand moved a device close to it. White liquid squirted out from it onto your wound. It stung, and you moved to pull your hand away. “There is an escape vessel.” You looked up at him. “So, you can understand me.” he said with a soft smile.
“Yes.” You replied as he let go of your hand.
“You’re not supposed to be on this ship.” He said, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms.
His shirt was snug against his frame, hugging his muscular build as he shifted in his seat. You noticed the definition of his biceps, the way his shoulders seemed to broaden with each movement, and the hint of a six-pack under his shirt. He exuded an air of strength and fitness that was difficult to ignore. When you remained silent, he continued, his voice steady, “There’s a no tolerance policy for stowaways, they are to be-“
“Shot when they are discovered.” You finished, holding his gaze for a moment before glancing towards the weapon on the table behind him. “So, is that what you’re going to do Mills, shoot me?” You asked, returning your gaze to his.
"The escape vessel hangs high above the mountains; that is our only hope of returning home." He continued to scrutinise you from head to toe.
“Our?”
“Yes, our.”
“They will check my ID as soon as the escape vessel is picked up, and I will be shot on site,” you said, your voice harsh. Your eyes darted between his, searching for any flicker of reassurance in his expression as you struggled to comprehend the dire gravity of your situation.
“Not if we tell, then you are someone else.” He said with a small smile.
“They wouldn’t believe us.”
“They wouldn’t believe you. I have no reason to lie about survivors. Then, when we stop at the nearest planet, you can disappear into the crowds.” Mills said, his voice laced with conviction.
“Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why bother to save me?”
“It’s a fair few kilometres to the escape pod, and well, you saw that creature out there. There are others too. I really don’t want to make that sort of journey alone.” He said, unfolding his arms and resting his hands on his thighs.
“How do I know you won’t shoot me when we get to the escape pod?”
“You have my word.”
“What good is the word of a stranger?” you asked, skepticism evident in your voice
He shrugged his shoulders, and you chewed the inside of your lip as you looked at him. He had saved you from the Cryochamber. You had an older model, it was true, and you knew that it couldn’t be opened from the inside and then there was the matter of how you ended up inside the ship. By your calculations, there were more than enough opportunities for him to kill you.
“What the hell kind of planet do you think this is?” you asked, plucking a seed bud from the crest of a towering, sun-drenched flower, its petals a vibrant orange that stood out amidst the lush greenery of the grass field you were traversing. The warm breeze carried the whisper of distant wildlife, adding to the surreal beauty of the alien landscape.
“No idea, but I really don’t like the local wildlife.” he replied, his gaze darting towards a rustle in the bushes, as if the very thought of the unknown creatures made him uneasy. His grip on the weapon tightened, a subconscious acknowledgment of the danger lurking beyond the vivid flora.
Mills had not stopped scanning the area surrounding the two of you since you had left the ship, his gun held tight against his chest like a lifeline. His focus was unwavering, every step calculated as he navigated the uneven ground with a sense of ease that hinted at years of survival experience. Despite the intense heat causing sweat to glisten on his brow, he maintained a pace that was both quick and steady, betraying no sign of fatigue.
“Well, if it is truly undiscovered, then we could get a fat chunk of change for discovering it,” you continued, as the two of you ventured deeper into the dense tree line. The shadows stretched longer as you walked, the air cooler and filled with the earthy scents of moss and damp foliage. “Hell, I don’t think this place would even need terraforming.”
“I don’t think this place would be suitable for a colony,” Mills replied, his eyes scanning the wild growth around you with a critical eye. The entangled vines and towering trees spoke of a land that thrived on its terms, chaotic and untouched by civilisation.
The foliage in the field had been sparse, allowing for clear lines of sight in all directions, but stepping into the forest was like diving into another world altogether. The trees stood numerous and chaotic, their trunks weaving into a dense tapestry without any semblance of order. Moss clung to their bark as if trying to pull them into the ground. Thick foliage blanketed the forest floor, a tangled carpet of thorns, leaves, and hidden roots that threatened to trip the unwary with every step. Above, the canopy formed a patchwork quilt of light and shadow, the sun's rays piercing through in thin, golden beams that highlighted motes of dust dancing in the air. The air hung heavy with the scent of rich, damp earth mixed with a hint of sweet decay, and the occasional calls of distant creatures echoed eerily, amplifying the sense of mystery and hinting at the unseen life lurking just out of sight.
There was a sudden, thunderous roar to the left, reverberating through the trees and sending a shiver down your spine. It was deeper, more menacing than the previous cries you'd heard—a primal sound that hinted at a creature of unimaginable size and ferocity. Mills didn’t waste a second, swiftly raising his gun, resting his cheek against it to steady his aim, his face a mask of concentration and tension. He advanced with a quick, deliberate step, every movement exuding the experience of someone well-versed in danger. With a silent yet urgent gesture, he signalled for you to continue moving. As he retreated, Mills kept the gun firmly trained on the direction of the roar, his eyes scanning for any shadow or flicker of movement. You obeyed, forcing your legs to move against the paralysing weight of fear, cautiously stepping away from the unseen threat that seemed to stalk just beyond the veil of greenery. The forest, once alive with background noise, felt eerily silent, amplifying the heart-pounding thud of your pulse.
“Distance to escape vessel, 24 kilometres,” intoned the robotic voice, its calm precision a sharp contrast to the adrenaline-charged atmosphere. The announcement came just as Mills deemed it safe to pause, his decision a tacit acknowledgment that the two of you had gained enough distance from whatever had unleashed that terrifying roar.
“Fuck,” you whispered, leaning forward and placing your hands on your thighs, trying to take in larger gulps of air. The relentless heat clung to your skin like a sticky shroud, each breath feeling heavy and laborious. “We have only walked 4 kilometres.” The realisation cut sharply, your eyes sweeping over the parched vegetation.
The climate on this planet was oppressively hot and sticky, a pervasive humidity that seemed to seep into every pore, sapping energy with each step. The vegetation reflected this as well, appearing dry and brittle, leaves curled in on themselves as if trying to conserve as much moisture as possible. Dust stirred underfoot with every movement, clinging to your boots as a constant reminder of the parched conditions. Mills glanced away from his gun long enough to assess you. Sweat trickled down his temples, yet he remained remarkably composed, his endurance and conditioning allowing him to weather the demanding journey with seemingly unshakable stoicism.
“What planet do you come from?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and perhaps a hint of weariness. You stood, placing your hands on your hips, drawing a deep, calming breath as if preparing to share a piece of yourself you hadn’t revealed in a long time.
“Strars 6Y7-5G39, a colony planet.” You replied, moving to sit down on a fallen tree.
“So new, they haven’t even given it a real name,” he said, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. His eyes seemed to scan the horizon, as if trying to imagine the vast, unnamed potential of such a place.
“Yep, we haven’t even got sunlight through the clouds yet. It's like living under a constant, dreary blanket. All it ever does is rain. The Company says it will take at least twenty years before the sun pokes through, and likely another ten after that for them to finish stripping resources and make it habitable,” you replied, pulling your shirt away from your body and flapping it slightly, hoping to send some cooler air up underneath.
“How long?” he asked, his voice carrying a soft note of empathy
“How long what?”
“How long have you been on that planet?” he asked, his gaze shifting once more to take in the alien landscape around you. There was a cautious curiosity in his voice, as if he was trying to piece together the story of your life through the fragmented history etched in your words.
“All my life,” you replied, your voice carrying the weight of years spent under someone else's thumb. “I was born on Sanrohines, a tropical planet that was as lush with debt as it was with greenery. My family ran into financial trouble, and my dad did what he had to do to pay it off. With the Company, the only currency they care for is time—servitude in hours and years.”
“How much time do you owe?”
“You ask a lot of fucking questions, you know that?” You replied a little frustrated.
“Well, I am about to lie to the company rescue ship that’s going to pick us up. I think knowing a little more than your name would be useful.”
You sighed and looked away from him, the weight of unspoken memories pressing upon your shoulders. He was right. But knowing that didn't make divulging your history any easier. It was a story woven with struggle and sacrifice, threads you weren't sure you were ready to unravel for him.
“My parents owed, thirty years each. Mum died after five and dad after seven. A new round of illnesses got them, the older you are, the worse it seems to be. I inherited their time, but for decedents the time is quartered. So, I owed twelve years.”
“You look old enough to have paid that off.”
“Hey, that’s rude.” You retorted.
He shrugged in response.
“Due to illness and people dying in the mines, my tenure was extended.”
“By how much?”
“Fifteen years.”
His head snapped around to you with an intensity that broke through the surrounding silence. You squinted up at him, instinctively shielding your eyes from the sun as curiosity and a hint of challenge danced in his gaze. The stark reaction suggested a shared understanding of the gravity of your circumstances.
“They can just add fifteen years just like that?”
“Who's gonna stop them, the only people that operate on colony planets are The Company and smugglers.” You shrugged.
“That’s who got you on the ship?” he asked, his attention now more focused on you than the surrounding area. His gaze was steady and searching, like a spotlight cutting through the dense foliage around you. The slight rustle of leaves and distant calls of unseen creatures faded into the background as his question hung in the humid air between you, casting a sharper light on the path you'd taken to get here.
“Yep, I worked on the farms, where tending to those beds of leafy greens wasn’t just for sustenance but survival. Fresh veg on the black market sells for a killing. It’s funny how something so small can have such a big price tag in this universe. Then they packed me up nice and cold in a Cryo chamber before shipping me off on your vessel. If you hadn’t crashed, well, maybe I’d be somewhere sipping cocktails now, a free woman.” You clapped your hands together, and stood stretching.
“I didn’t crash.” He muttered., moving away from you.
“Sure, you didn’t; you just fancied a leisurely stroll in this creepy creature hellhole,” you joked, your voice laced with playful sarcasm. The dense foliage rustled softly underfoot as you followed the path he'd set, the dimming light casting long shadows that flickered and danced with each step.
Summary: The date about two years in the making xD You know what's up (enjoy it while the good times last).
WC: ~5k
*
The whole day passed in a blur. Mills’ gut was a roiling mess, stewing with anticipation and dread. This was all he could think of for months, even before she was awake and with him, and even so, when she said yes, he could hardly believe it was real.
It seemed like what constituted as the evening in the ship’s timekeeping and the appointed time of their date would never come, or at the very least, that he would fall apart like a shaky house of cards before then. But then somehow, after an agony of waiting, time suddenly shrunk in on itself like a crushed can, and there it was. It was time to slip into his clothes and make his way to her cabin.
In his cramped bathroom, after a bang to the back of his head after a poorly executed turn and hitting his funny bone as he slipped his button up on, Mills stood looking at himself. The pilfered suit he had stowed away for an occasion such as this fit right in most key places, he was pleased to find. His shoulders fit into it comfortably and it was only a little roomy in the hips. But beggars - and thieves - can’t be choosy, so he straightened up, rolling his head and shoulders and applying some cologne. His hands were clammy, he noticed as the glass bottle threatened to slip out of his hold like a bar of soap. He wiped them roughly on his trouser legs and took a deep breath.
“Goddamn,” he sighed at his reflection in the mirror. Expressions flowed like waves over his face; a bright smile, a fearful stare, a shameful frown. Mills raked a hand down his long face and gave himself a bracing slap before turning away from the reflection and walking out.
*
Although he didn’t have a wristwatch – Mills added the item to a mental checklist of things to procure – he estimated his date was fashionably late. As he waited for her at the end of the corridor leading to her cabin, he paced in tight circles, ears trained on any sound of her approaching. Twice, he thought he heard something and stiffened, jumping to his full height, heart hammering against his ribcage, only for the rush to subside when she didn’t appear. He huffed a laugh, thinking he must look like a spooked gazelle, sniffing the air and listening for any whisper of an approaching lion.
Then came the unmistakable feminine sound of heels clacking on the floor. Deciding not to appear like a frightened gazelle that time, Mills looked at the ground and took in a few swift, steadying breaths.
His throat was suddenly dry, bobbing through sandpaper as he swallowed. She stood in front of him, her heels walking into his view first. He looked up from them, following the curve of her calf, up her thigh, round over her hip, the dip of her waist, over the sweetheart neckline of her dress, her bare shoulders and neck… He must have been making a meal out of it because she was biting down a smile when his roving eyes finally reached her face and he heard her starting to tap out an impatient rhythm with her foot.
Mills realized he wasn’t breathing when she came into view and once he saw her, all of her, it didn’t get any easier to start. If he had bothered to come up with something debonair to say prior to seeing her, it was well and truly gone from his head by then. “Wow,” he sighed and she looked away from the stupid, adoring look he could feel plastered on his face.
“Wow yourself. I haven’t seen you in a suit before,” she tilted her head to the side, exposing a delicious view of her neck and Mills had to turn his whole body to the side, offering her his arm, to get his eyes to tear away from the sight.
“You should see me out of it,” he shrugged and she shook her head, but laughed.
“So I take it the plan for tonight is dinner and a show.”
“The greatest show in town,” he winked and led the way to the bar.
*
“You two look smart this evenin’,” Clyde greeted when they took their seats.
“Well, it’s a special night,” she said mock-confidentially.
“Do tell,” Clyde recognized the tone and leaned in, emulating what was meant to be conspiratorial body language.
“Julian and I are on our first date.”
“Well, ain’t that somethin’!” Clyde tossed a rag over his shoulder and gave Mills a wide smile.
“Sure is,” Mills responded quietly, aware that both his date and the android were watching him closely for his reaction.
“Took you long enough to ask,” she muttered into her martini glass, loud enough for him to hear.
“Took you long enough to get ready,” he murmured into his and grinned when she saw her snap her head in his direction.
“Oh, I’m sorry, was I keeping you from some pressing engagement?” she somehow managed to put her hand angrily on her hip even as she perched atop a barstool.
“See, we’re already having our first fight,” he said casually to Clyde, who looked from one to the other with a look of child-like concern. Then he relaxed and leaned over to share the reassuring thought he found in his endless archives on humanity.
“Then you can make up, and accordin’ to my sources, that’s the best part of relationship squabbles,” he said and gave them an expectant look.
“Clyde,” she swirled the remains of her drink in her tapered glass, affecting a casual tone, “do you know what that means?”
Clyde stared blankly for a few beats. Knowing was a broad term – there was theoretical knowledge, empirical, experiential, and then the whole broader topic of consciousness and awareness as prerequisites for thought and knowledge in the first place, and where artificial intelligence fit into that entire paradigm… These answers were not easy for poor Clyde to provide. “Yes?” he tried.
“Okay,” she nodded, unconvinced, and dropped the issue.
“Well, you heard the man,” Mills shrugged and downed the rest of his drink, hopping jauntily off his stool.
“Are we off to start making up?” she mirrored his hop and enthusiasm, adding just enough slyness to her actions to reveal she knew exactly how much she was driving him mad with this probing.
“Dinner first, honey, and I will ask you to refrain from further scandalous remarks. I came here tonight expecting a classy affair,” he let her walk in front of him and headed to the restaurant.
*
As much as he wanted her, chafing against the too-narrow confines of his skin, Mills was also oddly at peace, he discovered over dinner as they ate and chatted easily. Knowing she liked him, wanted him too, made it easier to wait. To know something, something really good, was actually coming was comforting. The comfort was enough for now. And she was not playing coy about liking him either. He caught her eyes snagged on him over the rim of her glass, the bitten lips, the knowing smiles. He hadn’t predicted how amusing it would be to sit there, with this invisible guest between them, tangible and obtrusive, talking around it.
They walked aimlessly around after dinner. Without a time or a need to leave, with nowhere to be, there didn’t seem to be a natural moment to transition from the trappings of a common date to… starting the rest of their life together, to put it bluntly.
As they passed by the bar again, soft piano music was playing and Mills swung her in an arch that ended in his arms, inviting her to dance. She didn’t protest, letting him fold their clasped hands over his chest and pull her in. Resting her head on his shoulder, she sighed and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, swaying gently to the dreamy melody that floated around them.
His fingers found the groove of her spine, exposed by the dress, and ran his fingers up and down, up and down, slowly, across the dip in her back. She arched into him and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. He could feel the tip of her nose resting there, her soft lips, her hot breath on his skin.
He brought their joined hands to his lips and laid a kiss on her knuckles, just barely. She lifted her head to watch him ghost his lips over her skin and reached out for his face, tracing the line of his jaw. The gentle rasp of her silky fingertips against his stubble beckoned him closer, and he inched imperceptibly in with each stroke, until he could feel the warmth of her skin on his, their lips as close as they could be without touching.
“I, uh,” he cleared his throat softly and dispelled some of that gossamer magic, “don’t want to cast a pall over an evening as wonderful as this one, but I just have to say something.” He stopped for a moment and he could see a hundred thoughts swirling in her twinkling eyes, guessing at what he might say. If she was expecting a confession of love, it would not come yet, true as it may be even in that moment. “You changed everything for me.” He didn’t say the other things – the two years of indescribable solitude and despair, the vast nothingness that stretched endlessly in every direction around him, until there was her. She had heard scattered bits and pieces about it, and she would hear it all one day, but for now, that was all he could push past his lips.
“Julian,” she breathed his name and he could see an avalanche of compassion in her, crumbling her from within.
He kissed her knuckles again and smiled what he thought was a hopeful, loving smile. “You don’t have to respond. I just…couldn’t not say it, it’s the truth.”
Mills could see her contemplate what to say, almost starting sentences, and then deflating as she let them go. Finally, she seemed to decide the clearest way to express herself was to rise up on her toes and pull his head down for a kiss.
It was a slow, sensual exchange as she plucked a soft kiss from his lips, and another, testing how their lips fit against each other, and another, more demanding. The tip of his nose bumped gently against hers and she smiled into the kiss, lingering with her lips on his, and parted them, licking against the seam of his mouth. He locked his arms around her waist and pulled her in. The sudden bump into his hard body tore a sigh out of her and he savored it as they deepened the kiss. He could taste the wine she’d had in it, and it went on and on, the taste of her and the taste of him coming together. It stimulated every nerve, every delicious pleasure point in his body, until they finally emerged for air, popping apart with a wet smack and heaving chests.
She tugged on his arm, with endearing urgency, taking a few swift steps in the direction of their cabins. When he didn’t follow with the same haste, she spun around on him with an expression of earnest confusion.
“Before we go, I was hoping I could show you something,” his tone turned apologetic as he watched her.
She narrowed her eyes and considered how to phrase something that was obvious to him – there was no need to keep going with the pitch, he’d already made the sale. At some point, teasing out the tension between them would turn from tantalizing to infuriating.
“I’d say that at this juncture, I was interested in you showing me just one thing, but you’re going in the wrong direction for that. But I was asked to refrain from making scandalous remarks.”
“It won’t take long. And I’ll make it worth your while,” he slouched contritely and deployed the puppiest of eyes at her.
She bit her lip, itching to throw out some innuendo that would knock him off course.
“No scandalous remarks,” he wagged a finger at her, which only made her eyes light up with a more devious twinkle of mischief.
“But you’re making it really hard for me,” she goaded him with her eyes to take the bait, and sighed dramatically. “But I guess I have to keep a stiff upper lip.” Her chin quivered with held in laughter. “Even though I’m swelling - to huge proportions - with this need to…”
“Have you finished?”
“Well, you know what they say, Julian - if you have to ask a woman that, the answer is likely no.”
He turned and walked away, using all his resolve not to indulge her and look back. The sound of heels clacking behind him, catching up, had the corner of his mouth ticking up.
“What is this place?” she asked when he finally stopped.
“One of the famous amenities aboard the ship of dreams,” Mills supplied. “It’s the prep room for the space walk.”
Her mouth parted as she battled awe and apprehension. He could see her gaze at the suits in wonderment before her eyes darted nervously around the area, and then the door leading to the tunnel. She was adorable when she was somewhat scared, he thought as his chest swelled up at the thought of being the one to encourage and comfort her.
“I had an unfortunate experience with one of these in the past…” Mills commented as he shucked on the heavy suit, hanging his borrowed jacket on one of the bars that previously held it.
“So naturally, you thought of giving the same experience to me,” her hand was on her hip again as she watched him suit up.
“No, I thought it might cure me of my aversion if I tried again in better company.”
Her doubtful expression melted into one of reluctant affection. “How could I refuse an offer like that?” She turned to the other suit and eyed it for a moment before clearing her throat. “Not really designed for a seamless transition from eveningwear…”
It took Mills a second too long to get her meaning. Her dress wouldn’t really allow her to put it on comfortably. He swallowed back a curse, but she chuckled. The sound was followed by the slick glide of a zipper and he caught an eyeful of her figure twisting itself elegantly as she undid her dress and let the two sides yawn open across her back. It took a huge effort of will, but Mills reminded himself he was some sort of gentleman, somewhere deep down, so he cast his eyes to his magnetic boots and shuffled around, ungainly and flustered.
The fabric rustled deliciously as it slid down her body and thumped on the floor, each sound inflaming his poor imagination further. The dress came skating by between his feet, pried apart by the size of the suit, as if he needed any more reminding of exactly what the image was behind him.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he grumbled, his voice treacherously hoarse and strained.
“I didn’t,” he could hear the mischievous smile in her voice, followed by a gloating chuckle. “You worried about me being cold, commander?”
“Yeah, let’s go with that,” Mills gave up on any hope of banter, rendered too stupid as he staved off a hundred unhelpful thoughts and images. “It gets…chilly.”
“Can I say how much I admire your restraint of avoiding the word nippy?” she teased as she put on the suit and he had to admit he took some pleasure in hearing her struggle with the weight and fit.
“I appreciate it – I was sorely tempted to say it.”
*
The whole thing felt surreal.
You could stave off the roiling cluster of feelings – awe, trepidation, near paralysis at the expectation and the sheer unknowability of what you were about to experience – while you were teasing Julian. He was more infatuated, if not a lot more than infatuated, with you than anyone had ever been. That much was plain, and it had been for a while. He was also a complete hormonal mess. You shivered in your skin several times a day from the dark, heavy looks you caught from him. The only thing you couldn’t grasp fully was why he had waited so long to finally admit to it. But there was no rush, after all. So you decided to let it be.
There was an intoxicating sense of power surging through you as you undressed and stood there naked, staring at his back, smirking at the determined set of his back as he turned away. You suspected for a moment he might fall to his knees when he looked down and saw your dress sailing between his feet. Even struggling with the suit was something to do to keep your mind occupied, focusing on the holo’s instructions and taking in the sensations of the gravity boots pulling your feet heavily down to the floor. And then, all too soon, there were no more distractions.
You were outside the tunnel, feet planted on the platform exposing you to the outside.
You imagined a swallowing silence engulfing you, with nothing but the pounding of your heart to fill your head. And cold, pinching mercilessly at your skin. But it wasn’t like that.
There was a comforting hum, thumping all around you. As you grew accustomed to it, your own heart synchronized with the pulse of the universe. Like the inside of a celestial womb.
The cold never quite came either. Pushing off the platform, you felt yourself floating, a pleasant, comforting feeling. As though suspended in water the precise temperature of your body’s heat, you felt a gradual dissolving, like you were melting away. The ends of your fingers and toes, then the rest of the surface of your skin seemed to fade away so you couldn’t quite tell where you ended and the rest of everything began.
Tears flowed freely, without effort or distress. Finally some piece that had been jutting out of the puzzle slotted into place, smoothing out the landscape within you. This was the majesty you couldn’t quite conceptualize, the elusive why you couldn’t put into words when asked. This was the reason you were here, and had chosen to be here. Not the entire reason, perhaps, but certainly a part of it. This was yours to see and whatever you had been hoping for, it had far exceeded the hazy imagining.
You floated for an indeterminate amount of time, until you felt a tug of Julian’s arm against yours and turned back around, reeling yourself in by the tether.
Back inside the prep room, your helmets hissed as you removed them and yours clattered unceremoniously to the floor. Julian followed suit, dropping his by his feet and striding over to you. Your chests bumped together and you sprang apart. After another try, and another, you let out a frustrated little laugh. You couldn’t manage a kiss inside the suits no matter how much you strained and angled. Suddenly, you were off the ground. Julian had your suit by the collar and you instinctively grabbed for his wrists to get some purchase. In vain, it turned out, because he tossed you right down on the ground, next to the discarded helmets. The suit was so padded you didn’t feel a thing, laughing some more as he dropped to his knees next to you, coming at you from the side.
It was a frantic, messy affair; teeth and spit and smacking kisses and grunts as you shucked your suits off. You locked your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, hissing from the cold of the floor on your naked flesh. He stood you both up and his arms went to support your legs and ass, breaking a long, languid kiss when he felt fabric under his fingers. You watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he peered over your shoulder to catch a fleeting glimpse of your garters and lacy underwear. With a groan, his fingers snaked under the fabric and squeezed, and you responded by wrapping your legs tighter around him and grinding into him.
Your back slammed into a wall and you felt Julian readjust himself, grinding himself into you as he supported your undulating movements with his large hands splayed on your ass. His face buried itself into your neck and you ran your hands through his long hair, surrendering to the feeling of his body against yours, at last, eclipsing everything. His thrusts were deep and slow, sparking off your eager nerves, all the more so with the coarse fabric of his pants rubbing you so deliberately. He was already panting and wound tight as a string. You licked your lips to keep a moan in and took a breath. You might not make it to any cabin at all. Not as if you gave a damn, only the floor was rather cold and uncomfortable.
Julian seemed to come to a similar understanding, stilling himself with no little effort. You could feel his tense muscles shaking in protest. “Your place or mine?” he tossed his hair back and quirked a brow at you.
You nudged your nose against his and smacked another quick kiss into his lush lips. “Mine’s closer.”
*
Julian’s mouth was made for kissing, you decided, focusing on nothing more than the feel of it. Full and warm, as intent on you as you were on him, the kisses were sumptuous. Words like those existed to describe kisses like these.
By the time you staggered into your cabin, your head had cleared, if only very slightly. Julian had lost his shirt along the way and you were pretty sure he tore off one of your garters, and now you lay in your bed, buried in a mound of pillows, with his heavy, warm weight pressing you down.
He used his hold on your hair to arch your neck back, slid his other hand down your throat. As you ran a hand down his cheek, he pressed his face into it, eyes closed as though in prayer. It sent a hot wave of mixed emotions through you to realize just how starved for touch he was. Two years, rang the words in your head. All alone. Without hope for anything.
His teeth against your neck snapped you back into the moment and you arched under him like a cat. You had to admit you longed to be touched as much as he did. He propped himself up on his elbows now and then, when the wild, deep kissing ruffled you up. He meticulously brushed your hair out of the way, off your face, off your neck, for perfect mouth to skin contact. Like he was mapping out every inch of you. The kisses grew unhurried. Exploratory. Julian controlled the pace and pinned you down, moving out of the way when you got too eager. It was slow and teasing all the way until you shivered and surrendered for him, and then the tip of his tongue flicked out against your lower lip, sucking it in. As you gasped and leaned into him, he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against yours and wrapping a large hand around your neck.
The urge to cry came and went several times a minute. There were many reasons to be in this bed, together, not the least of which was the need that had built up over time. But there was also the need for another human being, a hand in your hand, and warmth. You wondered, not for the first time, if you wanted this just to have Julian, or if you needed this to save what sanity you had. His hands roamed up from your waist and he grazed his thumb lightly over your nipple. You felt it tighten deliciously under his touch and licked your lips. He did it again and brought his mouth to it, sucking it in and swirling his tongue around it as it rolled lazily in the heat of his mouth. You clung to his shoulder and groaned. The urgency returned, worse than before.
“Ju-li-an-uh,” you whined and he looked up, kiss-bitten and beautifully disheveled. “Don’t go slow.” The look on his face told you he never intended to.
There was no more preparation between you, no hesitant, gentle love. You didn’t let it happen. Like devouring a meal after starving all day. You could savor him later, but this was vital, life and death.
You reached a hand under the mound of pillows and pulled out an accordion of condoms. He sat back on his heels and tore one off with his teeth a bit too eagerly. The nasty taste of lube made his nose scrunch and he craned his neck away from you, spitting. You smiled, taking a quick moment to look at him. A few hairs clung to the lightest sheen of perspiration across his face. He loomed over you, broad, pale chest heaving, his cheeks slightly flushed.
His teeth flashed in a sickle smile as he tore off another and carefully bit the foil. Julian gave himself a few dry strokes, hissing at the feeling, before rolling on the condom. The sensation wracked through his body, sending sculpted muscles rippling and you felt a wave of arousal at the sight. He noticed and watched you more closely then. With the flair of a performer, hungry to hear his audience in ecstasy, he palmed his thick shaft at the base in his huge palm and tantalizingly slid it on. You felt your cheeks burn, watching his cock jump and his hips involuntarily buck as the cool slick of the lubricant soothed his hot, aching cock. He rolled it all the way down and it gripped around the base tightly. It was the first time you thought the old argument that condoms were too small or uncomfortable for a man might hold some water.
You reached for his hips between your legs and he slithered back down, going in for another crushing kiss as he probed around your entrance just long enough to feel his tip nudge inside. Then he plunged all the way in, sinking deep and smooth and making your eyes shoot wide open. His pace was even, but relentless, quickly filling the room with sounds of slapping skin and squelching thrusts, with your mounting moans announcing when he found the best spots. With a curse, his hand came in between you, circling your clit insistently. Julian’s rhythm soon stuttered and you felt him twitch and then still inside you a few long moments before his fingers ground an electric orgasm out of you.
There was no break between the first messy coupling and the next, slower one. No one spoke and you just focused on the magnificent feeling of his beautiful, robust body on yours, and the hunger that was both being satiated and further stoked by the feeling of him inside you, filling you so completely and setting your pleasure points on fire. You felt it coil and build, like ratcheting up a rollercoaster, one dogged notch at a time, past what you thought you could take. And then, at last, suddenly, a drop and release. You came from deep within, feeling powerful contractions take over your body, leaving you nothing to do but see stars and let them wring you out.
You were completely satisfied by then, happy to relax and meld into Julian’s warm body and contemplate the evening. But greed wouldn’t let either of you rest. It was ocean water, leaving you thirstier than before. As long as you could move, you could move together, as one. After a break, still swollen and used up, slicked up and dripping from the two fucks earlier, you locked eyes with Julian. His dark eyes flitted to your lips and your thigh went over his. That was all it took. He was inside you, slipping in easily through your puffy folds and stopping only when he fully bottomed out. You squirmed under him forever, already chafed and on the brink of displeasure. His hands teased your nipples before resorting to pulling them more harshly and biting, hands squeezing your ass until it brought tears to your eyes. The orgasm built forever, eluding you a few times and making you fist the sheets and kick your shaking legs in frustration. You were growling by the time he managed to fuck hard enough into your sore flesh to draw you out, his back bearing the brunt of your determination to ride it out. Bloodied grooves marred his sweaty back and your fingernails were red crescents. Neither of you could stand to be touched right then, buzzing and sparking off, so you rolled off each other. It was too much to be touching in the aftermath, when your bodies felt more like they’d been through a fight than intercourse. You stared at the ceiling, panting for a long time as you fought to catch your breath. The hyperventilation made your head spin and you threw an arm over your eyes, focused on steadying your breathing. Gradually, feeling returned to your body. Muscles stopped shaking, the white noise in your head started to clear and you felt back in control of yourself. The same must have happened to Julian because when you rolled over to lay your head over his chest, he was already hugging an arm around you. He pulled you close, closing a tight seam of flesh against flesh and kissed the top of your head. You felt his heart race under your hand as you rested on him and smiled into his chest. Before you drifted off, you returned a gentle kiss to his sternum and snuggled back into a comfortable position, letting exhaustion take you.
I saw your latest post and got really excited for more of your Starship Icarus story (any fyi any other story you're working on) and I read you're going to post the update here soon. I just wanted to say I only use Tumblr so I really appreciate you sharing your stories here ✨ Love your writing and can't wait to read the new chapter!
Yaay, I'm so glad to hear that :D
Thank you for letting me know, I know a few people who tend to only read here, so it's good to be reminded.
I hope the new updates are worth the read :)
<3
i wasn't so sure about 2025, it started pretty bad but then I SAW YOU POSTED A NEW CHAPTER OF ICARUS!!! and now i have so much faith in life again 🥹
Omg xD
I gotta say I feel you - there's so much to be worried about and I've never been the best at looking on the bright side, but after going back to a few stories to try to wrap them up, I'm finding a little bit of joy.
It's so touching to hear that there's people out there still willing to follow along with Mills or Jacques or Flip in these stories, and that it can make you feel good ❤️❤️
