by Noah Harris
I looked at it, under the moon. The glistening moisture at its tip and the strong, proud thrust of its hardness. The way one vein circled up toward its large, pulsing head. Even the curve upward. It was all beautiful, just like the rest of my body. I’ve always been pretty fond of it.
That feeling of weightless freedom, school finished forever, the burden off me now that I’d won my prize, all opened up in my chest at once. I breathed deeply, almost laughing with the pleasure.
With a thrill, I crossed my arms over my head, pulling off my shirt, jacket and undershirt in one movement. The moonlight felt cool on my body in the hot night air. I kicked at my shoes until they, and the trousers, were gone as well. It felt like magic.
I knew I must look crazy, sitting there on an old wooden throne in boxers and dress socks, but I didn’t care. The night wrapped itself around me like a lover. Like a mouth. I leaned back and let the breeze caress me, staring up at the moon like it was smiling down on me, all-knowing. Saying, ‘Everything you are is beautiful.’ Perfect in the moonlight.
Slowly, slowly, eyes closed, listening intently to the silence of the night, I ran one hand down my chest, through that thatch of golden hair, down my stomach, ending right at my hips before trailing lazy fingers back up. My skin was glowing, shining like a diamond in the night. I was so hard it felt like I could come from the slightest touch, and finally I had to relent, wrapping one wet hand around that heavy shaft and moving slowly, lightly. Imagining a mouth there. Trying to picture how that would feel, the suction, the wetness and the teasing tongue.
When I came, it nearly ripped a howl from my throat. The sensation traveled from my seat, up my spine, and out, in great spurts and shudders, until I could barely concentrate on keeping up my stroke. I watched my muscled stomach as it rippled, spasming, and finally, with a smile, I dropped my cock onto my thigh with a wet thud, rolling my eyes and feeling just a little silly, as usual.
I plucked my undershirt from the pile of clothes, wiped myself down fastidiously, and dressed just decently enough to make it back to the dorm showers.
When I finally made it back to the room, towel around my waist and sleep in my eyes, the lights were out, and Darius was, thankfully, alone. He moved over sleepily, arms opening wide, and we slept the delightful sleep of the satiated.
And since that was the last night anything was normal, I haven’t really thought about it since. Looking back, it makes me feel vaguely proud. The passion, making love to myself, still feels monumental now. Something about the moonlight bathing me. Calling to me.
Dozing at one end of the shuttle, strapped into a mummy bag against the wall like the rest of them, head light and fuzzy, I wonder if they’re all asleep.
If I touch myself just a little bit, here in space, would they notice? I feel guilty and gross the second I think it. That’s a private act, and it would be disrespectful.
I’ll just have to ignore it, the push of the sleep sack against my rigid length, the way every tiny movement gets amplified in zero-g. Pretend you’re just kelp I tell myself, waving in the ocean current, ignoring your dick as hard as steel, not alive to every millimeter as it rubs softly back and forth.
Biting my lip, breathing heavily in the half-light, I will myself to sleep. Will my heart to slow, my breaths to quiet and even, in and out. Will my body to calm down and end this pointless raging. I accidentally imagine Julian Forrester in the light of that moon, silently watching me stroke myself, and I have to start all over again. But other than that, smooth sailing.
I eventually have my erection down to a dull ache, and I can relax. But the second we’re at the waystation, I’m going to need some serious me-time. I suddenly get very excited thinking about a zero-g orgasm. How many people can say they’ve done that? It’s a thrilling enough idea to satisfy me, for now.
Closing my eyes to wait for the waystation to reveal itself on our screens, I catch myself laughing. What if all the others were hanging in their sacks too, horned up and laughing at themselves? What if it happens to everybody, and nobody talks about it?
I open my eyes just in time to see Julian close his, and I’m absolutely certain that he’s aware, in that way of his, of everything that just happened. The arousal, the near madness as it peaked, the memory of starlight, and then the gradual discipline settling down on top of it all, like a chill.
Julian knowing, for some reason, makes me happier and hornier than ever. And when I do sleep, I dream of nothing else. Just Julian, watching me undress. Watching me stroke myself, and the whole time he’s grinning proudly.
Saying, ‘Everything you are is beautiful, Armstrong. Everything you are is perfect’.
5
Flying Blind
Julian
The lights in Margot’s EVA helmet are always so flattering. What’s normally harsh or hard about her face in the daylight turns luminous and mysterious under the blue LEDs, like she was born to wear a spacesuit.
It isn’t the first time I’ve thought this, but it’s definitely the first time she’s caught me staring. She’s leaned in tight, adjusting my tether so I won’t go floating off too far without her.
“Is this taut? Are your systems all green?”
I nod at her from inside the suit, firmly clearing my throat in the mic.
On the approach to the waystation, the huge parking lot in the sky as we call it, the system threw out a lot of noise and alarms informing us that docking was likely to be an adventure. Not only because of the station’s iffy power grid, which was a fun new surprise, but because some sensor on the outside of our shuttle was malfunctioning as well.
We’ll be taking a simple walk, thirty minutes or less. Yet it seems almost certain it will feel much longer than that.
I nod curtly in a way I hope she’ll read as professional, and she goes back to checking the rest of our equipment. She hasn’t gotten any less terrifying since we started spending our days together in prep, but she does seem to have given up actively resisting my company on the mission.
Pippa explained to me this is actually one of the things she admires about Hellstrom. She’s a hardass, but once we left the ground I became her responsibility. As a staff sergeant, not to mention our corporate liaison, she’s serious about that. It makes me feel as safe up here as being with her on Earth was uncomfortable.
“You’re going to want to orient yourself once we get out there, in a number of different ways. It’s going to feel like vertigo. I know you know this. In the moment, you won’t realize that’s what’s happening.”
I nod. I already know she’s right. It doesn’t make me nauseous, although I think it does Pippa. Not that she’d ever admit it. But out here, where everything is black and starry in every direction, it’s a crucial point to remember.
“Very few people have ever done this, cadet. In the history of our species. That’s a good feeling. And it’s pretty overwhelming, once you’re out there. So, focus on the ship’s hull, follow me, and don’t do anything weird. Or sudden.”
Of course, nobody does weird stuff on purpose. Or makes sudden movements, for that matter. But I know what she means. Calm, smooth and still.
Once I’ve oriented myself as instructed, I think about ways to stave off the panic. It’s far away, in another galaxy almost, but I can feel it out there and I know it wants in. Think about something else. What do I do back home, when I need a getaway?
Alden Armstrong. That won’t do, here. Will it? I had the strangest dream, just before the alarms woke us up and told us I had a job to do, that I fear might work too well as a distraction.
We were back at school, in the dorms, and for some reason I was in his single room with Darius. It was all dark, except for some candles, and it took me a second to realize what was happening; Darius was giving somebody a blowjob. Nothing new about that! I’ve had that dream a million times. But then Alden walked in, and I could see him getting aroused. It was disappointing that he turned and left, but I followed him, leaving Darius behind.
Out past the courtyard, by the old chapel, there’s a very quiet place. It was a full moon, in the dream. I remember that because it made me nervous for a second, being at school when I should be home on ‘sick leave.’ But I stopped thinking almost immediately, my jaw dropping in shock, as Alden Armstrong looked me right in the eye and stripped out of his uniform.
He sat down, smiling hungrily and matter-of-factly began to stroke his cock. It was even bigger than I imagined, and I wanted a closer look, but I was afraid of disturbing him. He grew more and more out of control, teasing himself. Little pinches and scratches up and down himself in the moonlight, and a few times pulling that thick, rock hardness down and letting it spring back up, bouncing with glistening wetness at the tip.
I could feel myself losing control as I watched, moaning along with him as he groaned, sucking air through his teeth and throwing his head back. Exposing his white throat to the moon in ecstasy.
When I woke up to those alarms, I was sure I must have come in my jumpsuit, my dick was so deliciously sensitive and hard. But no, it was just there, begging, aching to be touched. I was almost grateful for the news I’d be taking a spacewalk, just for the chance to calm down.
I could have sworn when I did wake, Alden was looking right at me. I felt, in that second, that he could somehow sense what was going on in my head. Sense the howling desire of my dream, and his body’s perfection in the warm night.
I wanted him so badly I could feel hot tears in my throat, even after waking. And somehow, it didn’t embarrass me at all to think he might have somehow caught on. It stoked my passion, if anything, thinking about him across the way there.
An alpha would smell it. I think about that and nearly moan right into my mic. Alden, as an alpha, scenting my desire, groaning to quench it, taking me. Even just once, like that could ever be enough.
I sip a frothy milkshake from a bag, still trying to calm down from my spacewalk. Pippa’s got me in the tiny area we call the kitchen, which almost fits two people at a time, if they’re good friends. She’s already grilled me for what seems like hours, longer than I actually spent out there. She finally runs out of questions, and I’m happy to just float there with her.
“What was it like in here?”
Pippa’s eyes flash, gossip crinkling her eyes with a familiar delight. “Well, Jules. I can tell you that Alden was beside himself.”
That makes sense. “Yeah. I mean he worships Margot.”
She’s the very robot he aspires to be. Pippa nods sagely, Sure he does, and continues. “Captain and I were monitoring the operation. We cut the feeds when we lost you toward the end.”
The microphones had all abruptly rebooted, leading to a terrifying silence that lasted five seconds in one way but five years in another. “Yeah. Losing a couple of astronauts with the world’s elementary school kids watching is probably not great advertising for the program.”
Not that it matters anyway, since the waystation is coming into range and this dumb, cursed shuttle won’t be our problem ever again. “Those mics. We need to have a talk with our corporate sponsors about that,” I rumble. “Not quite up to par.”
Pippa nods, grinning and opening her mouth to crack a joke just as Harbaugh breaks in on the PA, calling us all back home. We shrug, toss our snacks in the recycle bin and kick off down, back toward the others.
I’m nearly finished validating my repairs, testing the connections between the onboard systems, but I am starting to think there’s actually something really wrong. I’m desperate to get to the waystation.
“I’d settle for duct tape and chewing gum right now, if that’s what it takes to get me off this thing,” I say into the silence, smile, and get on with it.
Humming a song in the half-light of the shuttle’s innards, I smell something delicious, and moan with pleasure before I realize what it is. Alden Armstrong, watching me warily. Catching me talking to myself.
But it’s what lies behind that scent that makes my back tense, ramrod straight, pushing me back against the far bulkhead. The perfect smell of an alpha, make no mistake; blood and musk and man, emanating off him in waves that make me instantly hard and wet.
I can’t begin to fathom how he’s doing it, but I do know one thing, I don’t need to be around Alden Armstrong while I’m fixing a spaceship. Not when his body’s screaming sex at me so loud I can’t think about anything else, not even how bizarre it is since he’s not a wolf.
To cover up the new bulge in my jumpsuit, I shift my toolbox around, conveniently forgetting how zero gravity works. We both watch helplessly as a host of tools flood slowly out into the corridor. Without a word, Alden swings into action, plucking the tools out of the air one by one, collecting them and putting them back into the bin. And if he spots my hardness as we scramble around each other, he doesn’t say a word. It probably wasn’t noticeable, I tell myself, even if to my mind it has swiftly become all that matters in the universe. A steel-hard beacon, calling his name over and over again, desperate for his touch.
“Hey, are you okay?”
I have to laugh, shaking my head. No. No, I’m not. You’re standing right there being absolutely sweet as hell. I am not okay. I’m pretty sure I’m going into heat, despite it not being my season at all, and I’m stuck in a tin-can literally in outer space with the most beautiful man on any planet, with a tense kind of peace settling over the whole crew like a blanket.
I’m not okay, I’m dying of horniness! I want to shout. But of course, I just smile weakly instead.
Alden gets closer, crowding me. “Listen. I know Margot can be a little brusque, but I also know she doesn’t rattle easily. You’re going to solve this problem, she has faith. We all do.”
Nodding, I’m still not sure what his point is. He just smiles, those kind, beautiful eyes never leaving mine. “She is going to yell at you. All day, if she wants. But you know in the end, it’s all for one and one for all with her. Right?”
I nod again, less sure than ever, unable to break the spell or look away. Mesmerized by him.
“You’re a hero, doing whatever it is you’re doing right now, and that’s all you should be worried about. You’re doing a great job, and I value you for that. You’re keeping us alive.”
When I finally look away, blushing, I swear he loves my anxiety as much as I love everything he’s saying. I want to stay here forever, in this hallway breathing him in. I want to exit so fast I leave a me-shaped hole in the bulkhead behind me.
It takes a moment before I can look up again, ready to take a deep breath and blabber something similarly sweet, or at least halfway encouraging, but when I do, he’s gone. The scent remains, and my body stays alert for so long that eventually I have to crawl away for relief.
I’m just changing into a clean jumpsuit when a whole fresh set of alarms starts going off, so I beat it back to the command module. Alden hangs onto a navigational screen, comparing our current trajectory to the waystation. His smile’s only a little worried as he floats back up to us.
“Okay, so, good news and bad news. The good news is we’re about ten minutes off the ILP, so we’re right in position to begin docking. The less great news is…”
“The bad news,” Hellstrom growls, popping her head into the cabin. “Our sensors are shot. I’m going to have to park by feel. We’re going in blind.”
Surprised, Pippa laughs just a bit into the silence. The rest of us stare out at the stars, still and silent.
It’s so quiet you can almost hear the crunching scream of ten tons of science, scraping itself along a priceless pinnacle of cosmopolitan engineering. Finally grinding into something like a resting peace.
“You’ve got this,” Alden says. “I’m sure of it.”
He doesn’t sound so sure. But soon enough, the four of us are stationed at different vantage points, calling out not-very-helpful instructions as she guides the shuttle in to dock with the waystation. Through some lucky draw, I’ve got a prime seat up front, so I’m alone the first time I see the w
aystation. Which is good, because it makes me gasp.
Even after reading all the schematics and learning all the systems, my concept of its scale is still incorrect. When you hear “platform,” you think of a raft. This is more like the deck of an aircraft carrier, spinning like a drum in space.
While the inside of our shuttle was gleaming and American, porcelain-white, soft curves on every corner, the ILP waystation is Eastern European in design. Brutalist, squared off, efficient and sparse. It has a grungy, kind of mean look I wasn’t expecting. It’s as dingy and old as the shuttle feels new, ergonomic and customer-friendly. It occurs to me I haven’t seen too many pictures of it from the outside, and now that makes sense. This functional, durable thing is humanity’s gateway to the stars, after all. It must withstand more radiation than anything we’ve ever flung into orbit. I guess it doesn’t need to be pretty, too.
Or maybe it is, I think, sitting in the dark with no lights on either vessel except the path showing Hellstrom where to aim us. We’d all sighed with relief when those turned on. At first, the waystation was just a black shape against the brighter black of space.
Now, we stare out of our respective portholes, calling out unhelpful and almost certainly subjective announcements, seemingly at random. We’re like four myopic relatives, trying to help a college freshman double-park. And I know Alden must love it when the sergeant finally barks at us all to shut up so she can concentrate.
But true to her word, when she does dock the Orion III, it’s as simple and easy as a kiss.
I can feel the humming contact through my feet as the station grips us, the better to more precisely align our airlocks. But that’s the only time I feel anything at all. For all her focus on PR, optics and business strategy, it’s easy to forget Margot was once one of the greats. The Sarge.