16The Boy Next Door
By The Lady Razorsharp
1: Interesting
Some people think routine is boring. Some people can't stand tedium, the same thing day in and day out, or being anywhere that the scenery never changes. Unpredictability is excitement, novelty is to be sought after, a constant stream of change means inspiration and challenge.
If you're an astronaut, routine means safety. Tedium means calm. Predictability means security. For an astronaut, things don't get interesting, things get dangerous.
No one knows this better than Captain Ridley O'Bannon, the senior member of a trio of captains that staff Global One, a GDF space station in geosynchronous orbit high above the surface of Earth. Ridley has had her share of excitement on the job (space pirates, rocket-powered comets), and desires nothing more than long stretches of sameness. Sure, she'll rise to the occasional emergency; these things happen. For the most part, though, it's her job to make sure that nothing changes, and therefore to ensure the safety of all aboard Global One.
It's in the interest of safety that the GDF has partnered with International Rescue to run a monthly test on some of Global One's more complex systems. This was suggested by O'Bannon herself, since she knows first hand how useful IR has been to the GDF's space station, and IR graciously agreed.
Ridley smiles to herself as she sets up the testing modules; she's sure that someone at the GDF agreed in hopes that IR would allow a peek at the amazing systems of Thunderbird Five, but so far, any overtures in that direction have been politely, but firmly refused, on the grounds that International Rescue's software is proprietary.
A hand touches her shoulder, and speak of the devil, she turns to see that it's John Tracy, International Rescue's monitor from Thunderbird Five, her weekly squash partner and guest for the afternoon's test run. He's a little early, but still, a welcome sight-especially on a routine job like this.
"Hey there, neighbor," she quips, as John steps closer. "You're early. Hoping to get in a few games if we finish-?"
It's at this moment that Ridley notices John's expression-intense, expectant, and something else she can't quite place. His eyes, a luminous shade of sea green, are piercing even in the bright light of the control room.
Ridley blinks, resisting the urge to back away as he comes closer still, invading her space. "John, what is it? Is something wrong?"
To her astonishment, John raises a gloved hand and places his index finger against her lips. His finger stays there for several heartbeats, first skimming the fullness of her lower lip and then tracing the bow of the upper. Finally, he lowers his hand and his features relax into a smile. Then his eyelids, fringed with copper lashes, dip to hide those glowing irises a split second before his lips meet hers.
For a moment, she's so stunned that she freezes. His lips are warm and soft, and his touch is sweet, undemanding. To her surprise, his kiss feels as natural as breathing, and she's about to respond in kind when the gears in her brain begin to mesh again. She places her hand against his chest, pushing him gently but firmly away.
"Wait, John-" They can't do this, especially not in her control room. Then she realizes with a start that they're not even in the control room anymore.
John pulls back to fix her with his sea-glass gaze. "It's okay," he reassures her. He moves back a half-step, his hands lowering to his sides. "I'll go, if you want me to."
"No, I-" She takes a breath, collecting herself. "Please, don't go." She reaches up to smooth his high cheekbone with her thumb. "It's just-you startled me, that's all."
He's looking at her like she's all he's ever wanted, as he steps back into her circle and takes her face into his hands. Once again his eyes close as he dips his head to capture her mouth with his, and now she kisses him back.
Something within Ridley must believe him when he says it's okay, because now she finds it utterly impossible to resist sliding her arms around him in return, her palms splayed against his back as she bends, fitting herself to him. Thirsty, the word blurs across her brain, as they sink to a floor that has suddenly gained the softness of a mattress. She is thirsty for him like someone who doesn't know how parched they are until the water is against their lips.
With that admission, the kiss is abruptly not enough, and her fingers begin worrying at the zipper of his suit. For some reason, her gloves are missing, because she can feel his skin against her fingertips, and she pushes him down into the yielding surface at his back. Those incredible eyes flutter shut as she unzips the suit, laying bare the slope of his collarbone. He shrugs out of the confining neoprene, inviting her hands to trace his sternum and glide over the swell of his biceps even as his hands work at her own suit. Her arming cap has disappeared to the same bit of ether as her gloves, freeing her short, dark hair to fall over her left eye. She shivers as John's graceful hands trace her jawline and the nape of her neck.
The world undergoes a dizzying swoop of motion as he rolls her onto her back. Her hands are in his hair, sending the copper strands into disarray as his tongue sears its way between her breasts and down her belly. A cry tears loose from her throat as he continues even further down to tease a wicked thrill from between her thighs, leaving her gasping his name as he slides back up with a smug little smirk on his beautiful face.
Very well, she thinks, turnabout is fair play, and she raises up to push him back once again. He lands with a yelp and a grin, but soon he's the one gasping as her own tongue teases and taunts. She laughs deep in her chest as he raises himself up on one elbow to draw her towards him. Once gaining her lips, he slowly tips her back to loom above her, eliciting a sharp rush of breath from them both as they become one. With each passing heartbeat, the universe narrows to sea-green and copper and the feel of him as they move together.
She has no idea how much time has passed, but John's breath abruptly catches in his throat and he shudders, his skin going to gooseflesh beneath her hands as he buries his face in her shoulder. Need steals Ridley's words, rendering her unable to utter more than a frustrated burst of noise, and she catches a glimpse of his smile. Then his hands are coaxing bliss from her, adding to what he's done already, pushing her just that much higher-and now she's tumbling down, like a comet flaring to brilliance and then fading to a bright memory.
When she can breathe again, she grins up at him, pulling him down to kiss her once more-
An explosion of sound splits the world, taking John with it, and Ridley sits bolt upright in her bunk. On the shelf beside her bunk, her phone is crashing out some offense to humanity in the form of music; her daily alarm. She turns it off and flings the innocent piece of metal and plastic back on the table, then sits with elbows on knees and head in hands, attempting to collect her whirling thoughts.
A dream. Not real, despite her body's reaction. Even now she can feel the spasms chasing each other just as if he'd been the one who inspired them, rather than her autonomic nervous system.
The question prods at her: Why? Admittedly, John is easy on the eyes, but he's just her squash partner, a friend, commiserating and exulting in the life they've chosen among the stars.
Oh, Ridley Kathleen, really? The voice of inescapable reason-which sounds awfully like her mother's voice-snaps in her inner ear. If she's completely honest with herself, the thought of John Tracy as more than a friend does cross her mind now and again, but then real life descends and renders the thought to nothing more than a pleasant musing. She doesn't even know why he's in her thoughts right now, except-
Ridley grabs up her phone once more, and checks the daily log. There it is, at 10:00am GMT: Monthly check from International Rescue. She drops the phone in her lap and resumes her former pose, her fingers threading through her hair.
John will be arriving in three hours, blissfully unaware that he's been the subject of a dream so mind-blowing that Ridley feels as if she ought to light up a cigarette-that is, if smoking were permitted on a space station.
This, she thinks with a groan, is interesting.
