Zero G Desires

Also known as "Stars and Thighs"

Dedicated to anyone who knows how to bite.

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Location: Main Command Deck, The Lyra Echo

Time: Day 210 of mission

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The ship hummed -- a constant, low purr beneath my boots, the kind of sound you stop noticing until it changes.

I tapped my nails against the edge of the console, biting my bottom lip as I scanned the energy logs for the third time in ten minutes. The numbers weren't budging. Power reserves were down. And the life support systems were working overtime -- mostly because someone (me) insisted on maintaining sterile lab conditions while growing the unidentified slime mold we found day 119.

"Of course," I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. "Right when my cultures are entering replication phase."

I heard the door slide open behind me.

I didn't need to turn around. His presence had weight -- even in a sterile room with artificial gravity. I could feel his annoyance drilling through the back of my head.

"I assume you've seen the numbers, Commander," I said, still facing the computer panel. "Or did you come up here to breathe down my neck and look broody as usual?"

A pause. A long one.

Then his voice, low and steady, "Energy consumption's up twelve percent. Systems are lagging. Life support draw is high -- mostly from your lab, Miss Voss."

I turned to face him, arms crossed. "Dr. Voss."

He didn't correct himself. Just stared back at me.

Commander Damon Madrigal stood tall. Almost a whole foot over me. His uniform pristine, little metal stars glinting at his neck. He had been a pain in my ass this whole mission.

I rolled my eyes, breaking the stare first. "And, what's your point, Commander?"

"Protocol Nineteen," he said, looking me up and down, his face unreadable. Then he turned to leave. "I just wanted to warn you."

I stood dumfounded in the lab for a moment before running after him into the hallway. "You want to disable artificial gravity?"

He stopped short, and I nearly collided with him.

"Want?" he echoed, looking down at me. "We have to, Miss Voss. Thanks to your carelessness."

I glared at him. My cheeks burned, partly from anger, partly from how close he was.

"You're joking," I said.

There was the barest glint in his eyes. "Never about power efficiency."

I let out a groan that was equal parts frustration and dramatics. "You realize I have live cultures that rely on stable gravity? And my team? Half of them can't hold down a protein bar in Zero-G."

He looked down at his watch as if already done with me. "You'll adapt."

Without so much as a glance, he turned again, already leaving.

"Besides," he tapped his watch in a mocking fashion, smiling over his shoulder, "it's only for seventy-two hours."

I balled my fists at my sides and huffed back into my lab, muttering curses at him.

"Of course I'll adapt," I grumbled. "Doesn't mean I have to pretend I'm happy about it."

Pt. 2 Up in the Air

Location: Central Crew Assembly Bay, The Lyra Echo

Time: 19:57 -- Three minutes before gravity shutdown

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The bay was too warm. Or maybe it was just me.

The crew clustered in the central bay, boots clipped, gear secured, voices low but laced with anticipation. A few of the greener members joked quietly about who would be first to puke or float into a wall. I stood apart, arms crossed, eyeing the sealed storage cases across the hallway containing several months' worth of xenobiological data like they were newborns about to be dropped. My experiments were stowed -- reluctantly -- but I was still cataloging every possible outcome that might change the inevitable.

"Should've packed them in foam," said Soren, my junior biologist, adjusting his harness. "Or bubble wrap. Space-grade bubble wrap. That's probably a thing, right?"

"It's not," I said, tapping my fingers along the edge of the control panel. "But thanks for the last-minute innovation."

He grinned sheepishly. I almost laughed but I was still too frustrated.

"Remember to keep active logs of the cultures. At least we can study what state they'll be in from this mess," I said, adjusting the wrist-strap on my data pad.

Soren grinned as he locked a protein bar into a Velcro holster. "Optimism, Doc. Maybe we'll finally see who's been stealing my mango gels when they float past in a panic."

"Wasn't me," muttered Rikki, one of the engineers, zipping her boots. "But I would kill for a mango right now."

There were chuckles around the room -- too much ease, too much chatter. None of them seemed to be freaking out about what three days of microgravity would do to the delicate cultures. I was.

A moment later, Commander Madrigal stepped through the airlock like silence itself. Everyone turned quiet as he strode through the crew and took place near the override panel beside me. Everyone stood a little straighter. I paid him no mind, bending over to adjust my boots. I shifted my weight and smoothed the fabric of my pants. The waist was high, but the cut clung just enough to outline the curve of my thighs. The compression panels were meant for circulation, not aesthetics -- but I liked the way they fit me.

Madrigal cleared his throat. "Zero-G activation in one minute," he said. "Confirm all restraints secured and personal gear stowed."

The crew went back to adjusting their gear and clipping themselves in.

I perked up and caught his gaze. His eyes dragged up from my legs. I raised my brow at him, "It's not my people you should be worried about, Madrigal. The cultures we collected--"

"Miss Voss," he cut in smoothly, leaning in so only I could hear, "you assured me you'd adapt."

His voice was smooth -- low, even -- but something about the way he said things always made you listen. Like punctuation was a privilege.

I narrowed my eyes, unamused. "Adapting doesn't mean I stop voicing concerns, Commander."

"You're free to voice them," he replied. "I'm free to remind you the decisions already made." I could smell his cologne, and the barest hint of mint.

I averted my eyes, unable to look at him so closely. "My team's secure." When I nodded over to the crowd, we both saw Rikki slyly slipping mango gels in Soren's loose cargo pocket. They were oblivious to our heated exchange.

"I wasn't questioning that," Madrigal said. Then quieter, "You're tense, Voss."

I turned slightly, raising one brow. "Is that an observation or an accusation?"

The edge of his lips almost curved. "Just noticing."

I wanted to hit him. "When the cultures degrade, we'll put the loss from your decision in the report." The heat crawling up my spine wasn't all from anger -- and that made it worse.

"Good," he said. I didn't see him move, but suddenly felt his hand at my hip--warm and firm. A click, and I was tethered to the panel with another restraint. "Make sure it's accurate. You know how I am about precision."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the countdown lit up on the panel above us. A yellow light flashed in warning, making the room glow. The ship's system blared.

Ten.

The bastard was smiling.

Nine.

I exhaled through my nose.

Eight.

I bent forward in defiance, unclipping my boots.

Seven.

I drew up and unclipped the restraint he had secured to my hip.

Six.

I smiled back at him, but his smile was long gone.

Five...

I reached up on my toes, returning the strap to a hook by his face.

Four...

I felt his attention flick to my legs again. A half-second too long. A fractional stall in his perfectly timed scan of the room.

Three...

I mocked him. "You're tense, Madrigal."

Two...

Stillness from him. Stillness like control. Like power wrapped in discipline.

One.

The hum instantly shifted. My stomach dipped. Gravity dropped away.

I was weightless.

Around us, chaos bloomed in an elegant silence -- limbs lifted, straps tugged, Soren gasped as a mango gel tube floated by his face.

I barely moved, stabilizing myself on a rail attached to the wall.

The crew began unclipping themselves and laughter bloomed as they all tried to gain composure like tipsy dancers at a wedding.

Madrigal and I stayed in place, inches apart, tethered by nothing but our spite for each other. No glances exchanged. No remarks. Just the thrum of the ship and a happy crew.

I pushed off gently toward the lab, refusing to look back -- but knowing exactly whose gaze followed me out.

Pt. 3: Storage and Signals

Location: Deck C -- Padded Equipment Hold, Near Xenolab

Time: 22:34 -- Gravity Status: Offline

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The padded storage hold was silent except for the occasional squeak of sealed crates tapping their restraints. I'd floated here for one thing: a scanner I needed for tomorrow's Zero-G culture scan. I usually couldn't haul it myself, but luckily the stupid zero-G helped.

I glided past narrow rows of Fragile labeled bins, all stacked in high rows. The scanner's case was near the back corner of the aisle, sandwiched between two shelving units. I braced my legs to a floor rail, the angle forcing me to twist -- legs curled, thighs pressed close as I steadied myself.

Behind me, the quiet shifted.

I let out a sigh and continued my search.

"Despite what you might think, Commander, I do know what precision looks like. You don't need to supervise me from the shadows."

His voice was low and deliberate. "I wasn't supervising."

Having located the right shelf, I pulled the scanner free and pivoted gracefully midair to face him. Madrigal hovered in the open doorway -- not quite entering, not quite leaving.

"Then what are you doing?" I asked, annoyed that I suddenly sounded breathless.

He didn't move. Just stared.

I huffed, shifting to float around him, but the movement nudged the scanner, causing it to float downwards. "Ugh, stupid thing," I mumbled. I bent forward to reach it.

"Can you stop that?"

I paused, mid-bend, and looked back at him. "What?"

His eyes were fixed on me. Was it anger?

"I said, stop that." It was frustration.

"Stop what?" I grabbed the scanner and gently floated back up to face him properly. "What's your problem?"

He took the scanner from my hand, lifting it up and letting it float above our heads.

"Hey!"

"Stop. Bending. Over."

He was insane. "What are you talking about?"

His gaze dipped. Just slightly.

"Come on, Voss, don't play dumb with me," he said.

The air in the storage room felt thinner -- or maybe just warmer. He was so close. Close enough that I could smell that mint again.

"I move how I need to move," I said. "The fact that it affects you," my eyes drifted down, "isn't my responsibility."

"Is that what you think you're doing?" he said. "Just moving?"

I pushed off the shelving unit gently, shifting upward until I floated level with him. Close enough that my knee nearly brushed his thigh.

"I think, if you have something to say to me, Damon, you should just say it."

His jaw only flexed. That restraint taunting me again. Every moment felt like it dragged out this game between us, but I couldn't quite figure out where I wanted it to go. I shifted to push past him, but his arm shot to the wall, blocking my exit.

"I shouldn't say this," he said, voice low and near my ear, "but I think about your legs more than is appropriate for a commanding officer."

I froze.

"What?" I said, stunned by his honesty.

His mouth was nearly an inch away from mine. I couldn't take my eyes off his lips.

"Your thighs," he clarified. "The way you move. I've trained myself not to look, but it's not working as of late."

For once, I didn't have a ready line. I just stared at him -- heart thudding somewhere behind my ribs like it wanted out.

"You're the most disciplined man on this ship," I said quietly.

"I know." His voice didn't waver.

"You're also the biggest pain in my ass."

"I know that too."

His eyes darted down to my mouth, just for a second -- then he kissed me.

It was fast. Sharp. Mouths pressed, my palms against his chest. His tongue parted my lips as his hand caught the small of my back to steady the drift. For one breathless moment, we weren't officers, or rivals, or people bound by rules. We were just heat.

Our bodies glided back, and he pressed me up against a unit of crates. I reveled in his taste. I hadn't expected this--to like it. But I wanted it suddenly and fiercely.

His hands roamed up my back and then back down lower to squeeze my ass. I bit his lip and tugged on it with my teeth in response, wanting his anger.

Madrigal laughed, both his hands reaching up to cup my face gently. But his smile quickly disappeared as his eyes grew hazy. "Give me your tongue."

I wasn't myself, because almost instantly, I offered him my tongue like a gift.

He consumed me, sucking on it like I was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. He moaned into my mouth, and I felt a burst of heat spread through me.

My breasts felt heavy, and entirely too covered as they pressed into his chest. It was like he could hear my thoughts because I suddenly felt his warm hands grope me over my uniform, kneading my chest to satisfy the sensitive peaks.

His mouth wandered down my neck as he touched me. I gasped, feeling his teeth nip at my throat between sucking wet kisses on my heated skin. I gripped his uniform tight, pressing my hips into his. I could feel his hard length through the fabric of his pants. The knowledge made me grind into him eagerly.

"Fuck," he groaned into my cleavage.

He kissed me like he hated me. And it thrilled me. His tongue penetrated slow and deep, tasting and taking my breath away until I was soft, pliable, and extremely wet in his arms.

When he pulled back, his hands lingered at my waist -- suddenly professional. Almost.

It was silent in the room except for our panting breaths. I licked my lips, which were swollen and sensitive.

He stared at them and added between breaths, "Come to my quarters."

I stared at him, my pulse leaping.

He stammered, suddenly self-aware. "If you want to," he added.

I nodded once, tight, like it meant nothing. Like I hadn't been waiting for something to break between us since the first time he said Miss Voss with that tone in my lab.

I turned, grabbed the floating scanner above us, and left the storage hold.

I didn't look back -- but this time, it wasn't from pride. It was because I was red with disbelief.

Pt. 4: Quarters

Location: Commander Madrigal's Private Quarters, The Lyra Echo

Time: 22:52 -- Gravity Status: Offline

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The door slid shut behind me with a muted hiss. His quarters were immaculate-- neat, perfectly arranged. Dim lighting hummed from recessed panels, bathing the space in a low amber glow. Madrigal hovered in front of his floor-to-ceiling windows. He was backlit by a giant wall of stars.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd come," he said.

I hovered past the threshold. "Timing me with that watch of yours?" I asked.

He moved then. One push from the window and he was in front of me -- so close, I could feel the heat of his body near mine. His hand grazed my hip.

I was suddenly shot with nerves feeling his touch, knowing there was no going back. I deflected the feeling. "I'm not here because you asked me."

"You're not here to pretend anymore either," he said.

I didn't get a chance to answer. His mouth was on mine -- pressing gently like he was still deciding if he could let himself want this. Then harder, his tongue forceful and probing into my mouth. I couldn't get enough of his taste. I wanted to taste more.

I must have actually said that thought out loud, because he responded, "I want more too."

His hands slid down past my ass, gripping the backs of my thighs. With ease, and thanks to the lack of gravity, he lifted me, hooking both legs around his hips.

I groaned from the control he had over me.

"I know," he murmured. "Take off your shirt."

The forcefulness of his tone made me ache between my legs. His effect over me was so strong, I didn't even think. I pulled back, my fingers trembling at the center of my top. Nerves getting the better of me, I kept my gaze down as I obeyed -- unfastening the front seal, peeling it back slowly over each shoulder, revealing my black bra.

He watched me greedily, like a predator.

"You've been driving me insane," he said, voice lower now. "The way you move. The way you argue. And these thighs."

He gripped them, firm. I floated upward slightly from the pressure, catching myself against his chest. His mouth brushed my ear.

"I'm going to make them tremble." His voice was like liquid lightning. It sent shockwaves through my body, making me feel overwhelmed with need and desire.

"Damon," I said. His mouth trailed kisses down the base of my throat, then between my breasts. "I need it."

That undid him.

"Fuck," he breathed. He yanked the cups of my bra down, my breasts jiggling after being exposed.

He kissed each swell of flesh with a hunger, gripping my thighs to steady himself as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. I couldn't take my eyes off him as he tugged on a sensitive tip with his teeth, the pain sharp and wonderful. My back arched and he gripped my thighs harder, making me squeeze tightly around his hips.

His hard cock pressed between us. "I want to ruin you," he said.

My body vibrated with need from his words.

I was barely able to perceive that we were rotating, midair, clinging to one another desperately. We had drifted over his bed near the center of his quarters.

His mouth began descending languidly over my stomach. I could barely breathe. I felt his hands massage the back of my thighs until he finally hooked his thumbs in the waist of my pants.

"Wait!" I gasped. I didn't want him to see.

But it was too late, he was already slipping my pants down midway over my thighs.

He paused, his face level with my panties. His voice hoarse. "You're obscenely wet," he said. He swiped a torturous thumb over the soaked fabric. "Let me taste."

My breath caught, feeling his tongue follow, gliding slowly over the wet spot.

"Oh, fuck," I cried out. My back arched again, and I tried to wriggle away from the sheer sensitivity to his licks.

"Don't," he said. "Don't fucking move."

The slow, tortuous drag of his tongue through the bunched up fabric of my panties was driving me crazy. I couldn't think straight, a dangerous build of tension growing between my legs.

I could hear and feel my pussy getting wetter. My hands gripped his hair, now a complete mess. His licks turned to little kisses right where my clit sat swollen beneath my panties.

He drew back for a moment just looking at the mess he was making. Then he smiled.

"I want to bite your thighs."

I let out a sharp exhale from the pure desire in his words.

A soft kiss pressed the inside of my thigh. My skin was damp, my cum dripping like sticky sweet honey down my legs from his attention. His mouth was possessive -- tracing up the inside of one thigh, biting gently on the delicate skin. Not hard enough to mark, but enough to sting.

I groaned -- the sound involuntary.

He did it again. Slower. Harder.

His teeth dragged over my sensitive skin. Then a kiss. Then a bite. Over and over, up one thigh, then the other, until I was trembling in his hands, suspended by want.

"You don't even know what these thighs do to me, do you?"

He looked at me, genuine curiosity mixed with fire in his eyes. I bit my bottom lip and shook my head "no." Because I really hadn't known.

"I watch the way you walk down the corridor. Every fucking day."

He bit again, hard enough to leave a mark.

"You kept bending over like you didn't know exactly what you were doing to me."