u/BetweenTemperatures

What would it be like?

The switches and buttons from the console might catch on her ass…but she wouldn't mind. She could have one hand on his shoulder…another holding fast to the conduit mounted to the side of the pillar that divided the canopy glass. She might even put her leg on the front of her flight seat for support. The glass would be cold...but the contrast might be thrilling. She'd watch his eyes as he fucked her…their juices dripping down between each slow thrust to smear across the communications panel and eventually down to the floor below. His forearm would ripple as his thumb traced tight circles around her clit.

They're a good team…they'd be a good fu—

THUNK

She gasped and jumped in her seat as another rock from the debris field struck the side of the hull. She blinked rapidly as she took in her surroundings…where she'd been for —

Eight hours, fourteen minutes.

Commander Nessa Lampard had done the math four times. It didn't change, and she was losing her ability to focus.

She stared at the holo-radar floating above the instrument panel, its soft blue light painting the cockpit in something that almost looked peaceful if you didn't know what the contacts meant. Seven of them. Sitting just beyond the ring's dense debris field like patient dogs. Anacondas, mostly — heavy enforcement ships running Federation-adjacent markings that didn't fool anyone. Hired. Well-equipped. Content to wait.

So are we, she thought. We're just better at it.

The Sidewinder groaned around her — a low metallic complaint from somewhere in the port hull, metal expanding in the heat. She'd stopped counting those too. The temperature gauge on the secondary panel read thirty-eight degrees and climbing, and the single amber caution light above it had been blinking its patient, useless warning for the last three hours. She knew it was hot. The way her thermosuit — standard issue Federation undersuit, designed for the typical chill of space travel and doing precisely nothing for her in these conditions — clung to every surface of her body told her it was hot.

She shifted in the commander's chair and tried to remember what she'd been calculating.

Threat vectors. That was it. Secondary approach angles through the debris field, if the pirates decided patience wasn't working and tried to come in behind the rocks instead of waiting at the edge. She'd been running the geometry in her head — the mass shadow of the gas giant below them, the density of the ring debris, the likely sensor range on an Anaconda running active scanning —

Her eyes focused for a moment on a particularly large rock drifting between their ship and the field of stars beyond. A rotating black void against the backdrop of sparkling lights. Turning. Slowly.

She imagined embracing him in zero gravity…rotating slowly before that same field of stars.

Seven contacts. Holding position. No change in —

Without clothes she would feel his body heat radiate against her skin as they spun.

Nessa. She gave herself the word like a command. You are a Federation Commander with a tactical problem and a beacon running and approximately four hours before the situation resolves one way or another. You are not —

Their spin might slow, like a dance among the stars, as his tongue parted the lips between her legs, and she called out his name as he —

The ship's AI chimed softly. That pleasant tone that always managed to sound like it had all the time in the world…

"Power redistribution at eighty-five percent. Gravity systems will be restored in low-power mode upon completion. Estimated time to full redistribution: forty minutes. Stand by."

She struggled to recall the entirety of the ship’s latest announcement...and the Lieutenant spoke.

"Commander."

She looked up with a start and felt the heat move into her face before she could stop it. He was watching her from the co-pilot's seat with an expression she couldn't immediately classify — not quite concern, not quite amusement, something careful in between. The amber caution light strobed slowly across the side of his face. His thermosuit was unsealed to the waist, the top half floating free in the zero-gravity, and the cabin light caught the sheen of perspiration across his chest and shoulders and she became suddenly, acutely aware of her own nipples making a case for themselves against the thin material of her suit.

She looked back at the radar and became conscious of the fact that she had been bracing heavily into the seat with her hand between her legs…and may or may not have been grinding against it while she daydreamed.

"You catch that?" he said. His voice was easy.

"Gravity systems," she said. "Forty minutes."

Her wrist and the seat cushion beneath it were wet. Perspiration or —

"That'll be nice." He leaned across her — she felt the warmth of him before he arrived, smelled him again — and pressed the acknowledge button on the AI panel while his bicep crossed her eyeline and she stared at it with the focused intensity of someone trying very hard to look at something else.

His hand brushed her thigh ever so gently as he settled back.

Her breath caught.

She let it out in something that wasn't quite a sigh and wasn't quite a moan, and it escaped before she could stop it.

He raised an eyebrow. She cursed herself.

She needed to check the coolant pressure in the secondary loop. It didn't need checking — she'd checked it forty minutes ago and it hadn't changed and wouldn't change — but she needed her nipples and the drenched undersuit between her legs to be somewhere that wasn't directly beside him.

She pushed up from the commander's chair and drifted, weightless, toward the rear panel.

"The secondary coolant loop is nominal," he said behind her.

"I'm aware of that, Lieutenant." Her voice came out exactly right. Clipped. Final. The voice that had ended a hundred conversations she didn't want to be having.

She heard his co-pilot station shift behind her.. Then, softly: "Nessa."

Not her rank.

Her name — her name — in a voice she'd never heard him use before, low and kind, like he'd made a decision somewhere in the last hour while she was busy not thinking about him. She felt it land somewhere between her shoulder blades and travel downward.

She kept her back to him. Her hand found the coolant panel and rested there, doing nothing.

The cabin was very quiet. Debris ticked against the hull. The caution light pulsed its slow amber beat.

She felt him before she heard him — a warmth behind her, close, and then the lightest possible touch at her side, just above her hip, fingers barely there through the thin material of her suit. She spun on instinct.

He kissed her before she'd finished turning, one hand finding her jaw, one her hip, and for three full seconds she let it happen — his mouth warm and certain against hers, the taste of him, the smell of him finally and completely present after eight hours of calculated distance — and she felt something she'd been holding tightly, for years probably, begin to release its grip.

Then she pushed him back. Both hands flat on his chest. Hard enough to send him drifting backwards in zero gravity.

His expression didn't change. He let himself drift.

She stared at him. Her chest rising and falling. Warmth blooming in her chest. Anger…or —

"That," she said, and her voice was doing everything right even while the rest of her was not, "was a serious breach of —"

She stopped.

The silence took over the cockpit and said everything she hadn't.

She looked at him floating there in the amber light, patient, his thermosuit half-open, waiting for her with the particular quality of stillness that she recognized — she'd seen it in the mirror her whole adult life — as someone holding themselves very deliberately in check.

You are so stupid, she told herself. You are so completely —

She pushed off the rear panel.

She crossed the cockpit in one weightless movement and he caught her — and spun her, smooth and practiced, the zero-gravity working for him now, and she found herself beneath him as they came to rest against her own pilot seat with a soft thud, his hands gripping the headrest on either side of her head, his body a warm canopy above hers.

They looked at each other for one suspended second.

His mouth found hers again and she stopped thinking entirely.

He tasted like recycled air and something underneath it that was just him, and she kissed him back with eight hours of accumulated patience finally spent all at once. His hands moved to her hips and then her waist and her hands found the back of his neck and pulled him closer and the amber light strobed across them both like a slow heartbeat.

She felt him hard against her and made a sound into his mouth.

He heard it.

He pulled back just far enough to look at her face — and then lowered himself, his lips finding her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her collarbone where sweat had gathered and stayed in the zero gravity, still and warm and waiting.

She held herself against the seat with both hands and let him work downward.

His mouth found her breast through the thermosuit and she felt her nipple respond immediately against his lips, already hard from hours of announcing itself without her permission. He lingered there — teasing, knowing — until she shifted beneath him with impatience.

He moved lower.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her undersuit and drew it down and off — one smooth movement, the fabric joining the rest of the mission-irrelevant debris drifting near the overhead panel — and then he wrapped both arms around her thighs and his legs lifted slowly, drifting free behind him in the zero gravity, and he lowered his face between her legs.

Only his arms and his mouth remained tethered to her.

She felt his tongue part her and closed her eyes and gripped the seat frame with both hands.

He knew what he was doing. His tongue worked with focus while his thumbs pressed into the inside of her thighs, holding her open, and she felt the pressure build with the logic of something inevitable.

She came without warning.

Her thighs closed around his head and her back arched away from the seat and the sound she made was involuntary and unguarded and she felt her whole body lock and then release in long, rolling waves. She was dimly aware of his arms tightening around her legs as she moved, holding on, letting her use him exactly as she needed. She rode it out with her knuckles white on the seat frame and her face turned up to the canopy glass and nothing in her head at all.

When she came back she was shaking slightly.

She looked down at him.

His wet mouth. His eyes. His legs still drifting somewhere above them both.

"Lieutenant," she said. Her voice had abandoned her entirely.

He smiled against her thigh. Kissed it once. Then began to pull himself upright.

She watched him reach down and strip the last of his undersuit away. It drifted past her face but she didn't track it because she was watching him — watching him wrap one hand around his cock and she let out a slow breath through her nose at the sight of it. Flushed and hard and ready and pointed at her like a compass finding north.

He stroked himself once and she watched his forearm move and felt her body clench with want.

He brought the head of him to her lips and teased himself against them as she grabbed his wrist with increasing tightness.

"Don't," she said. Quiet.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tease me." Her grip tightened on his wrist. "Not now."

He pressed forward.

Shallow at first — just enough, a question — and then back. Then deeper, a breath of stillness, and back. She felt herself open for him with each advance, her body making room, slick and wanting, and she kept her eyes on his face the whole time because she needed to see what this was doing to him as much as she needed to feel it.

All the way in.

Her teeth came together. Her breath left her in a single, controlled exhale.

They held perfectly still for one moment — both of them — as if acknowledging what had just become true between them.

Then he began to move.

He needed both hands to maintain position in zero gravity, she noted. His grip moved between her hips and the seat frame as he found his rhythm, the physics demanding constant adjustment, every thrust requiring both of them to compensate. She reached down with one hand and found her clit with her middle finger and began to work in slow circles while he moved. Her fingertip grazed his shaft occasionally as he pressed in and out of her — the wet slide of him against her fingers — and she felt his rhythm stutter each time she made contact.

She watched his face. Watched the effort in it, the concentration, the thing he was trying not to let show.

She glanced past him at the canopy.

The two pylons at either side of the central glass panel had handholds mounted towards the ceiling of the cockpit. She'd never thought about them much before.

She thought about them now.

She waited.

She felt him begin to change — the slight shortening of his breath, the tension gathering in his lower back, his ass beginning to clench in that way that told her everything she needed to know about where he was heading.

Not yet, she decided.

His grip on her hip loosened by half a degree.

“Wait…” She said.

She sat up and pulled his hands from the seat frame to her body — and the moment his grip released the chair, she pushed off with her legs.

They came free of the chair together in a slow tumbling arc in zero gravity, his eyes going wide as they turned end over end. His grip on her tightened and with her free hands she found the pylon handholds as they spun toward the canopy and she planted her feet on either side of him. She pressed him back against the canopy glass beyond with the back of her thighs.

The stars behind his head. His ass against the cold canopy. His cock still hard between them, suspended. Searching.

He laughed softly…an expression that meant he was genuinely surprised and was going to pay attention.

She held the handholds and looked up at him.

She brought the head of him to her entrance and held him there. Felt him twitch against her. Watched his jaw tighten.

He reached for her hip.

She let him wait.

His other hand found her thigh and pressed and she felt the desperation in his grip and was satisfied by it and made him wait another moment longer before she began to press down over him — one slow inch at a time — until she'd taken all of him and their bodies came to rest together with her hips flush against his.

She leaned in close.

"Ok, now I’m ready," she said quietly, into the space beside his ear. "I won’t stop until you’re empty."

She felt him exhale against her neck.

Then she began to rise and fall. Fall and rise? They were fucking upside down at this point…

She set a pace, found an angle, and at the top of each stroke she tilted her hips — rotating around his head, feeling every ridge of him describe a slow circle inside her — before driving back down. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the cockpit. Wet. Rhythmic. Increasingly urgent. His hands found her breast and her hip and she felt his thumb press into the crease where her hip met her thigh and she concentrated on the depth of him each time she reached the bottom of her stroke.

Thud.

His ass, slick with sweat, slapped against the canopy glass. She felt it reverberate through his whole body and into hers.

Thud.

Again. The hull carrying the sound.

Thud.

She was going faster now. His hand on her breast had become a grip, fingers splayed and tightening, and she watched his face lose the last of its composure one layer at a time and felt the deep satisfaction of confirmed intelligence.

His ass was clenching again. She could feel it in his thighs against hers. His breath had stopped being regular. His cock was harder than it had been — she felt that too, that final hardening — and his grip on her breast tightened into something that would leave marks and she didn't care about marks.

She brought herself down hard and held.

Felt him begin to pulse.

Deep and insistent and unmistakable, the throb of him building inside her, and she wrapped both legs around him and locked her ankles and held the handholds and ground herself against him with everything she had. Her pussy lips dragging against the trimmed hair at the base of his cock with every small movement, the pressure building at the exact point where they were joined, and she felt her own body beginning to answer his —

The AI chimed somewhere below them.

Neither of them heard it.

His cock was pumping now, filling her in waves she felt all the way through, and she was shuddering around him, contracting in long rhythmic pulses that she felt from the inside out, and the sound between their bodies had become something slick and obscene and perfect as his cum began to work free with every movement, warm and abundant, and she didn't stop. She rose and fell through it — through his helpless gasping and her own shuddering and the wet sounds of their combined bodies — until she had wrung every last thing from both of them and the last of her strength left her hands on the pylons and she collapsed against his chest.

The droplets around them caught the amber light.

Sweat. Other things. Drifting in the silence.

"Nessa —"

She pressed her mouth to his before he could finish. Felt his arms come around her and held the kiss until her breathing slowed and she tasted everything between them and the droplets continued their patient orbit in the space around them.

"Nessa —"

She kissed him again.

"Alert. Alert. Power redistribution complete. Gravity systems restored. Brace for —"

Gravity arrived all at once.

They came down across the instrument console in a graceful disaster — a tangle of bare limbs that found every hard edge available, her elbow on the comm panel, his knee somewhere unfortunate, a slow smear of everything they'd made together across the face of the radar display. She noted this with the detached calm of a woman who had simply run out of reactions.

She stood.

Squared her shoulders.

"Heat sink," she said. "Now. Before the system surge reads on their sensors."

He was already moving. Two strides to the port panel, the ejection lever, a shudder through the hull as the canister fired — and then the ship exhaled, the temperature gauge beginning its rapid fall, and frost crept across the metal surfaces around them. Up the canopy glass. Slow and white. Obscuring the stars until the asteroid field outside became shapes and shadows.

She couldn’t help but notice how the frost traced the smear against the glass where his wet ass cheeks had slammed against it moments ago.

She stood and caught her breath and watched the temperature gauge.

He had his back to her at the secondary panel. Naked except for standard issue Federation socks. Nothing else.

She heard it before she understood it. A soft, irregular sound near her feet. She looked down.

His cum was tracing slow paths down the insides of her thighs — gravity with its opinions — meeting the deck in small, quiet drops.

And alongside it, threaded through it, a thin streak of red.

She stared at it.

He turned. He looked at her face. He looked down. Something shifted in his expression — not alarm exactly, something more careful than that — and he crossed the flight deck toward her.

He turned her gently by the hip and found the small cut on the back of her thigh where the instrument panel had left its mark. He considered it.

"Let me take a look," he said quietly.

She bent over her flight chair obediently. Both hands on an armrest, one foot lifted to the side of the seat.

She felt him lower himself behind her.

He kissed the cut. Once, soft. Then — she felt his tongue, warm and slow, cleaning the blood away, and a sound came out of her that she hadn't planned and she pressed her forehead against her hands and said fuck under her breath in a tone normally reserved for hull breaches and weapons locks.

In the cold air goosebumps covered her ass and her nipples stood at attention once more.

He didn't stop.

His mouth moved from the cut to the curve of her ass and lower, and she felt him begin to work through everything they'd left behind — patient, thorough, his tongue and fingers parting her from behind and finding the places his cock had just left warm and full and wanting more apparently, because her body responded immediately and her foot pressed harder into the side of the seat and she looked back over her shoulder at him.

His free hand was working his cock back to attention. This pleased her.

She straightened up and took him by the wrist and walked him to the captain's chair and pushed him into it. His bare ass met the seat and his cock stood at half-staff and made no apologies. She lowered herself in front of him with the focused intention of a woman who had assigned herself a task.

Her hands found him. Her eyes found his.

She took him into her mouth slowly and felt him respond immediately — a sharp intake of breath, his hand finding the back of her buzz cut head, holding on with the careful collaboration of someone who had learned, in the last hour, how she preferred to be handled.

She cleaned him first. Slow and thorough. Tasting everything — him, herself, all of it — and swallowing without breaking eye contact. His stomach tightened above her. His other hand gripped the side of the seat.

She felt him harden completely under her attention and felt his hips begin to answer it and held them down with her forearms on his thighs. He made a sound that started as a laugh and ended as something else entirely and said motherfucker at the ceiling in the voice of a man running out of options.

She pulled her lips back to the head and stayed shallow, her hand taking over the shaft below. She rose once, spit onto him without ceremony, worked it down with her fist, and felt his cock answer before she'd even returned her mouth. She found the underside of his head with her tongue and held there — consistent, unwavering — and listened to what that produced.

His ass lifted against her. She held him down.

His cock was pulsing now — she felt it in her palm, in her lips, the gathering tension of a man about to lose the argument completely. She pulled back slightly. Prepared herself. Held his shaft in both hands as his cock began to pump and let his cum fill her mouth in slow, warm waves and she stayed with every last moment of it, swallowing. Her eyes closed this time.

He shook his head slowly at the ceiling.

She rose. Wiped her chin with the back of her hand. Sat back on her heels and looked at him in his chair — spent, grateful, still wearing his socks — and felt the deep satisfaction of a mission completed.

Outside the canopy, past the thinning frost, a new contact resolved on the radar.

Federation markings. Three ships running escort formation, moving fast through the ring debris toward their position.

The cavalry. Eight hours and fourteen minutes late.

Neither of them noticed.