Microfiction: Drifting, by T.C. Mill

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by T.C. Mill

“I’ve been thinking of visiting you in the middle of the night,” Rosa said through the private link. “Coming in your cubby, it might be while you’re asleep…waking you up with my mouth on any part of you I can reach. How does that sound?”

Miles swallowed to moisten his throat. “It sounds…good.”

If he hadn’t been harnessed to the ship’s hull, he might have drifted off into space. “It sounds really good.”

Rosa handed him the welder. He’d never seen her out of ship coveralls, which were true to their name and kept him from taking in much of her. She was about as tall as he was, and through her helmet’s visor he could see the flash of a grin in her bronze face, bordered by a feathering of black hair. Her voice sounded like honey. He’d always thought so, even when she was saying routine reports. Now…

“Tonight?” she asked.

He wanted to roll out to the end of his tether, floating to the stars. He held himself back and began to reattach the section of loose plating. “Yeah.”

Nothing special, he knew that already. Some affection among crew was good, but when you were stuck with the same twenty people on a station for five years the sort of attachment that produced jealousy was toxic. On the other hand, having more than a handful of unwilling celibates clustered together for a five-year term of service was also toxic, enough that avoiding it was worth some risk of clinginess.

But Miles wasn’t going to be clingy. Neither was Rosa, he was sure.

He zipped himself into his sleepsuit, strapped to the wall of his five-by-five dormitory, at nineteen hours. Twenty one rolled around and he was still awake. With a voice command, he dimmed the light on the clock, which at least made him less aware of the time passing…until Rosa…

He dreamed of her. Her skin, its softness and warmth; her sweet, thick voice; and the smell of her under her suit. Salt and musk and a hint of sugar. He dreamed it–
–until he wasn’t dreaming at all.

Rosa had come into his room, whose door let her in as he’d programmed it to, and she had her mouth on the parts of him she could reach.

Starting with his eyelids.

Her lips brushed them, feather-light, tickling when they touched the long lashes. Then she grazed lower, over his cheeks and nose, her lips pressing a little harder. Kisses all across his face, from his forehead to where the collar of the sleepsuit started halfway up his neck, that became slowly more intense until she was nipping at his throat, sucking at his bottom lip.

“Hey,” he said, voice husky with sleep and with what she was doing to him.

“Hey,” she growled, and then her tongue slipped into his open mouth. One of her hands pressed his chest, the other gripped his shoulder to keep her in place. The dorm was too dark for him to see what she was wearing, but as she drew closer to him, her legs intertwining with his, it didn’t feel like much.

When her hand slid down to the closing over his groin, Miles reached for the fastenings holding his suit to the wall—and then Rosa pinned his hand to the plasteel paneling with a press of one muscular calf. She was wrapped all around him, and her hand was still freeing that one part of him, but the rest was held firm.

“Mind keeping still?” Her voice was honey, flowing into his crevices and corners. Her warm, sweet breath caressed his face.

“No problem.”

With a purring sound of approval, she nuzzled the side of his neck. He turned his head—that much he could still move—until her mouth came to his again. While they were kissing, her hand reached through the gap in the suit, found his hardening cock and stroked it to erectness. His hips pumped instinctively, but with his legs strapped as they were it didn’t do much good. Her fingers moved breathtakingly, but they were all he had and he wanted much more.

“I know, love,” she murmured to him.

She didn’t mean the endearment, but the idle word was flavored by her sweet voice, warm and tingling like a spice drop on his tongue. While her hand still teased, she kissed his cheeks and eyelids tenderly, delicate brushes of her soft lips. She brought her leg down, but he kept his arm still, as she’d asked. Drawing the opening in his suit wider, Rosa brought her hips up against his, and then she was taking him in, her warm, wet folds enclosing him to the hilt. She rocked against him and sighed.

“Yes,” he whispered. The friction was heavenly as she thrust, moving the way he wanted to but couldn’t, fucking him for both of them.

If that was the word. She was still gentle even as she held him down, kissing him slowly and deeply, running her fingers through his hair. Hers floated in a short, dark halo, strands tickling his face. He closed his eyes again and in the velvet darkness behind them, he felt pleasure like a kindling glow. It swept up over him, lapping from the base of his spine to the nape of his neck, rushing back down in a wave. Still she moved, hot and sweet around him, and in the night she was like a sun. The ends of his nerves sparked like distant stars. And even though she kept him pinned down, the motion of her hips was wringing him inside out, and the touch of her tongue was undoing him, and straps or not there was no tether that could keep him from drifting out into infinity.

T.C. Mill is a student of philosophy from Wisconsin. Because there are very few ways to earn a living as an undergraduate in philosophy, she is also a writer.  Dreamspinner Press has published her fantasy novelette “After the War” and steampunk novella “A Spell of Passion or Fear,” while her short stories have been accepted for publication in anthologies from Storm Moon Press and Circlet. She is also particularly proud of her brief pieces published in Every Night Erotica, as one of them allows her to add “has written smut in second person POV” to her list of accomplishments. Updates on her writing can be found at tc-mill.com.

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