“Her Two Lovers”
by Lara Alsonso Corona
Rose caressed the newly formed scar across Del’s thigh, his finger making a gesture the equivalent of a deep sigh, gently prodding the new star in this familiar constellation to gauge the extent of the damage.
“Please, can you not be a doctor right now?”
Del tilted her head, a pleading she knew Rose couldn’t resist. Nobody in this spaceship had any official qualifications, much less medical ones. Qualifications were for humans. There were no humans in here.
Someone has to be a doctor, though, Rose was thinking, and their ship picked it up, the android’s brainwaves drawing a gentle curve like a lulling sea of worry. The ship shivered, joining in.
“You too?” Del complained, while she finished kicking off her trousers and boots.
She drew Rose even closer.
The ship initiated the protocol of warming up the floor in this section. Both a sign of generosity and worry.
“There, my girl,” Del purred as her hand drew slow circles over the metal panels of the ship’s floor. “I’m here.”
“She missed you too,” Rose said, his face buried in the taut line of Del’s shoulder.
He was dipping his head and making his way down Del’s throat, the hollow of it, the dried battle-sweat of it, the tired spot between her breasts, when Del grabbed his chin and forced him to look up.
“I came back, didn’t I? Like you asked me.”
A nod and a tentative welcome-home kiss, and the ship’s wires murmured with relief for both.
When Rose laid her down she could feel the familiar breath of her ship under her bare shoulders. There was a reassurance there, even through the soreness and the pain of her after-battle calm down. It will always be us, she thought: Del, Rose and Ship.
She watched her android partner crawl back, taking away those lips of his – Del let out a disappointed grunt, her defenses at minimum – but looking back and up at her with a cocky smirk. Del knew that gesture too well, her legs parting almost unconsciously for him.
Rose had been growing his gruff lately – it was not needed for an android but this model could do it anyway and he did it for Del, for moments like this, when she liked feeling the prickling roughness of his cheeks while his tongue applied itself, the tender-est, to give her pleasure.
The ship rumbled, the noise engine-like, letting Del feel the flight, the floor panels waves of vibrations so Del would know the ship’s tenderness, too.
Del closed her eyes, wrapped in a sense of safety she hadn’t felt in days. Now that she thought about it: when was the last time she was able to close her eyes without a worry of what might be around her? Here, in the ship, with Rose, that was the one place in the universe. And Del had seen enough of that universe to know.
“That’s it, relax,” Rose whispered, his breath between Del’s legs a nice, sharp shiver of surprise, even though she was already missing his tongue on her clit. He bit the top of her thigh, gently, and Del sank further and further as if the floor was made of fresh, endlessly tall grass.
The ship hummed electric and warm, making the tall grass possible in Del’s mind, and singing a song of wires, against Rose’s rib cage, resonating against Del’s shoulder blades, the way the sweat makes them stick to the metal like it’s summer. The ship hummed with something other creatures — species like Del’s, perhaps — call pleasure. Something Del doesn’t even question, taking both of her lovers in. Something someone like Rose, someone made of the same wires as Ship, and organic plastic skin, and mysterious pathways and bits in-between, would call home.
Lara Alonso Corona is a queer writer from the north of Spain. They studied Film and TV in Madrid before making the decision to write in a second language and move to London. Their fiction has appeared in venues like Literary Orphans, Whiskey Island, FIVE:2:ONE Magazine, Burning House Press and the noir anthology Betty Fedora, among others. They are the current reviews editor at the literary magazine minor literature [s] You can find them on Twitter at @lalonsocorona