by Noah Harris
“Little movie about a boy who went to the moon. A real American hero.”
I’m getting into it. The flirty, throaty, sexy jungle-cat game is a fairly regular one with Darius who honestly seems to be doing a version of it all the time, with everyone.
“A hero?” Julian looks at me over his shoulder, practically winking. “What makes him such a hero?”
I realize I didn’t really know where I was going with that, and let the camera drop for a moment. Faltering at the scent of him, in this room, as it sharpens into eagerness. Those eyes, golden, like honey almost, in the light. The camera just seems like such a hassle.
Julian licks his lips hungrily, staring at my mouth, and I feel like we’ve fallen into a dream or something. Nothing seems real, except his smell and those eyes. Like I’m playing a version of myself in a movie, a version who can do anything at all, and it won’t matter.
It causes a stirring in my shorts, that lustful gaze, and I don’t really mind at all. Some very quiet part of myself far away, a voice on the other end of a tin-can telephone, wonders what we’re up to.
But the little voice inside that wants, always, to see where the limits are, is just saying go, go, go, go, so I do.
Deleting the video, I queue up a new recording to my personal account. Something in my smile catches Julian’s attention, and he drops any attempt at playing coy as I bring the lens up to his face. He looks at me with stark attention, searing intensity, waiting.
“Let’s play...get to know our comms officer. Science cadet. Science boy.”
I hold the camera high above us, so my jumpsuit flaps open.
I drift, lazily, my jumpsuit flapping open to reveal a taut golden stomach. Is there some way I can show Julian my arms? People like the way they flex. When I inspect them in the mirror, I always think of them being round, like grapefruits. Men who otherwise would never have looked twice at my body sometimes reach out, tentatively, to touch them. They make Darius’ mouth water, I know that much, biceps and thick quads particularly. For some reason, right now all I want is to see Julian undone like that. Wanting me.
I don’t know what I’d do with it, but I need it. Badly. Too badly to think of anything else.
“Get to know me, huh?”
Julian leans forward, eyes bright and hungry. He’s not playing around anymore, I can see it in his eyes and smell it all over his body. That quiet coolness he almost always shows, fracturing into the tang of sharp desire. Threatening to burst free.
It’s like our bodies are having an entirely different conversation from our mouths. It’s an odd feeling, but I can feel the gap narrowing, all the time.
“Got a girlfriend?” I ask, to make him laugh. “Boyfriend?”
Julian frowns, sadly. “Nope, afraid not. Neither. How about you?”
His raised eyebrows and parted lips just make me smile wider.
“We’re interviewing you now, Forrester,” I try to keep it playful, but there’s a forceful power behind my voice. “So…no boyfriend. Which is really too bad.”
Julian gives me a suspicious look. “Is it? Why’s that?”
He’s a little thrown now. Are we playing? Are we pretending? He pushes off slowly toward me, with that fierce, quiet grin. Daring me to stop him. I could say anything to break the spell, even just laugh. But I don’t, and neither of us are very clear on why.
“All that, going to waste...” I say, voice gone raspy in the cold.
“All what?” Julian says hazily, like he can’t believe what’s happening.
Neither can I. But here it is. Happening.
I reach out just close enough to touch and pull the zipper on Julian’s jumpsuit down to just below his ribs. Not too slow, not too fast. I raise the camera again, drifting back a foot or two, to take him in.
“All of this.” That last word nearly a wordless thrum it’s so deep, as I pan the camera slowly down Julian’s body. Devouring it.
Julian runs one finger down the exposed strip of chest and stomach, pushing the zipper down further, until just the top of his thatch of hair peeks out. “It doesn’t have to…”
I can’t move, forward or away, but I notice that one hand is curved against the length of myself, stroking it through the canvas jumpsuit. I moan with pleasure, trying to figure out when that started. The smell of Julian isn’t just beautiful now, it’s hypnotic.
“Fuck,” Julian whispers suddenly, staring into my eyes, and I can see how deep it goes. He’s almost crying with need, anticipation, but he still doesn’t make a move to touch me, as his eyes travel back to my face. He wants a show. I want him to look at my body and want it badly. For him to feel as hard and delicious as I do, and I want to be the one responsible. I’ve felt beautiful, but I’ve never really felt sexy. Turns out they’re very different.
Grinning, I shrug out of my jumpsuit’s top half, finally showing off my arms. And just like I imagined, Julian groans when I flex them. One hand reaches out of its own accord and I chuckle.
“You want to touch me?”
He nods, just barely. We’re still in the safe zone, I think, and then wonder what that even means anymore.
“You want it?”
Julian’s too nervous to look up into my eyes as he nods again, more intently.
I reach out to touch him first, running a hand from his shoulder to his elbow, feeling sparks you could almost see crackle between us, then I run my fingers down to his hand, which I guide slowly over my body. Down, down to my thick aching cock, still caged by the jumpsuit. Julian hisses, a sudden, sharp intake of breath, as I draw his thumb lightly along my shaft, then move the hand back up to my bicep, flexing under it like steel.
“Feel that?” I tense the massive muscle again and I’m delighted when I notice the head of Julian’s dick, already dripping, peeking up through the fly of his jumpsuit.
“God, your body. You’re perfect.” His other hand drifts down to himself.
“Say my name, cadet.”
He doesn’t move or break eye contact. Just grips my shoulders even tighter, eyelids fluttering with lust.
“Oh, Alden. My god, Alden…”
I laugh, taking his face in my hands, curving one leg around to bring him in tight as his exposed chest glides up my stomach…and Pippa’s voice comes crackling over the PA.
“Guys, are you still out in comms? You need to vacate. That gallery’s been losing oxygen for the last hour and it’s getting pretty thin in there. If you can hear me, get your suits on and come back through the airlock post-haste so we can figure out what’s wrong. And if you can’t hear me, I hope you’re somewhere safe. If you don’t check in soon, the captain says we’ll hunt you down.”
The words take their time sinking in, as we stand in space, paralyzed by desire. I want to devour all of him, instantly, but I also don’t want this moment to end.
Something deep within us howls. It’s like a chorus, singing at ancient frequencies, making arrangements. Unlocking and untwisting inside, as a lifetime’s confusion and fear slowly unknots, disappearing altogether. This is harmony.
Is this love? I haven’t felt this way ever, or at least not in so long it feels like a bedtime story. Have I been denying it all this time? This feels like burning up in the heart of a star, why would I give that up for anything?
This is love, I think, but before I can say it, Julian says it instead.
“This is love. I think this is love,” he says, breathlessly.
And then he breaks the spell.
“We’re going to die.”
Unsure what else to do, I break out in laughter, letting him go.
“What?” What a thing to say! We float free, trying to remember how to speak the same language.
“Alden, we’re losing oxygen. Data gallery’s compromised and we’re dying. Zip up.”
Still entranced by the scent of him, brain floating like I’m under some kind of spell, I can’t do much more than chuckle as Julian takes control, zipping me up and helping me into a spacesuit. I tak
e every opportunity to stroke Julian’s erection, running a finger along the curving crack of his ass, trailing my lips down his cheek. But Julian is firm.
He does caress my face once, before attaching my helmet, and his touch is like a hot toddy, spreading warmth everywhere it goes, so soft and delicious.
He leans in tight against me, breathing hard. “I need you to do something for me.”
Rubbing against him, I moan appreciatively. Eyes closed, there’s a lot I want to do for him. And with him, and to him. There’s so much to catch up on!
“Do you trust me?”
I fix him with one eye and a sweet smile.
“Of course!”
“Would you follow me anywhere?”
Dazed with desire, I nod. Julian’s look gets a little sadder. Why sad? Why anything other than grinding together, tongues and teeth and sliding dicks? What’s wrong with his priorities?
“Follow me into the airlock, then.”
He smiles seductively at that, like it’s a game of chase. But his body is afraid, too. And that sadness is growing. Did he say we were losing oxygen? Does he think that’s what this is?
That would be sad. If this were just some kind of dizzy dream. But I know it’s not. It’s everything. Everything but that. He needs to know that, that I won’t desert him. But I can’t think of the words.
“It’s nice here,” I pull back against his urging. “Here, already. I have you. Just breathe...”
He nods, quirking a little bit of a smile into our growing sadness.
“Yep, exactly. Hmm. Okay, how about this. Let’s go somewhere more private. I think somebody’s coming. I don’t…”
It makes me laugh, so loud and lusty I wonder if a sound like that’s a turn-on.
Is it?
“Let them! Can you imagine a better show? Look at us. Look at us in the light, Julian. Your body…”
He nods, now firmer than ever. I can feel him getting further away, even as he doesn’t move.
“Alden, I need you. Please, come with me now.”
Next time I stop, it’s right up against the airlock. I feel boyish and stubborn.
“Kiss me then. I’ll go wherever you want, but you have to kiss me first,” for some reason my voice sounds pleading, almost as if there are tears behind it. “I know we have to leave. And it won’t be the same out there. And I’m sorry for that, Julian. But right now, if you don’t kiss me, I’ll die. Kiss me goodbye.”
Now Julian is crying. Watching from afar, I’m sad for us both. The moon’s latest nasty trick, giving us this fire and then taking it away.
I try to memorize his face, the softness and the hardness, the light in his sad smile and the tender, lush twist of his mouth. Unshaven jaw and wild eyes. I want to remember him just like this.
No matter what happens next, we were in love for a second, and it was just like this.
Julian reaches out across a distance that keeps on growing as our time ticks away, and kisses me, without even taking the helmet fully off.
And by the time Pippa cracks the airlock, we’re both floating, unconscious. Tears still drying on both our faces.
7
Brave
Julian
Thank goodness I’d stuck with the swim team instead of joining soccer with Alden and Pippa. As neck-and-neck as we were in most areas, I never thought a split-second lead would actually save my life. Much less his.
I don’t let myself think about how weird the whole thing was until Alden’s showered and bundled up, sleeping it off. I’m exhausted but confused and once the titillation fades, somewhat disappointed in myself.
The second we were doing okay as friends, the second everything was finally normal after five years, I found a way to screw it up. Not just the kiss, but everything that came before it. It’s exactly the effect I’ve been having on men since I was barely out of childhood. That hungry devotion, the wild claims, the oaths and promises of forever and always, all of it.
I cried hot, angry tears. Everything I wanted, in the worst possible way.
And then, nursing a sweet drink from the galley, alone in the docking bay, sadness and shame are replaced by fear.
This has all the markings of a heat. It’s not my season and the moon’s nowhere near full, but the heaviness in my cock and the weird effect I had on Alden are undeniable. It’s coming and soon. And if we’re not back on Earth by the time it peaks, things are going to get dangerous.
Soon I’ll be under that spell too, and then we’ll both be dancing to something else’s tune. Ravenous, addicts of the flesh, devouring each other with no relief. Desire becoming rage becoming madness, brutality. Once I was in the grip of it, I wouldn’t just be drawing up his desire, I’d be driving it. Lost to the feeling.
Young omegas talk about it as ghost stories, fairytales, to ease the fear of what we’ll be one day. The unmated omega who walked into town and drove the men to madness, and the whole place burned down. The omega who deserted his pups in a sudden heat and found them dead when he came home. The alpha who came out of his rut to find he’d bred his brother’s omega mate, tearing apart their entire family, and who was eventually hung. When we get older, nightmarish tales, men fucking to the point of injury, and worse.
In my pack, it’s the omega’s job to keep a lid on things. Alphas can’t help wanting you, so it’s your responsibility to stay safe. Protecting them, and yourself, from their desire. But if the omega comes into heat without those safety nets in place, then nobody’s driving the bus. Everybody loses their minds. As we were drowning from oxygen starvation, I tasted just enough of that power to know what it was like.
I know myself well enough to know that once it got going, I wouldn’t want to stop it. Not if it felt like that. And from what they say, it feels ten times like that.
They don’t even know Alden Armstrong. He probably comes with a whole new terrifying level of desire and hunger we didn’t know existed.
And the only way out, the only exit to any of this, is such a slim chance I don’t usually consider it at all. That I’ll find that random alpha somewhere out in the world, and fall in love, and none of those measures will be necessary, because when he mates me it will be the real thing. Our souls, alpha and omega, bound together under the moon. The whole thing.
Getting your hopes up? I learned a long time ago that there’s not much that’s sillier than that. But doing it stranded on a space station, alone with four humans, is infinitely worse.
We haven’t spoken about the encounter in the gallery, but we didn’t change our sleeping arrangements either. We don’t have any options, and it’s just a couple more days.
What I find even more confusing is the Darius question. How did he stand it? The only reason I’m getting any sleep at all is the mix of exhaustion and constant peril. I would need at least a bottle of wine otherwise, or I’d be up all night with a raging erection.
If anything is bothering Alden, it seems to be that he’s found he has limits. He can’t breathe if there’s no air, like most mammals. Which is fine, for normal mammals, but Alden’s special, so this makes him feel bad about himself.
As he withdraws, these are the jokes I need to stay afloat. It’s my old Flight School tone creeping in. Nasty and mean, funny and invulnerable. Not worth hating, or even noticing.
Alden’s as chipper and friendly as ever, of course. But the last couple of days, the friendship, the real intimacy, all that seems reset to zero. There’s nothing special about me, or us, that keeps him with me when he could be helping Pippa, or Margot, or the captain. We’re all equal again.
“Barring some refit of the entire computer’s guts,” he says, waving tiredly toward the shuttle bay. “We’ll just have to fire the rockets and hope for the best. Margot got us here with no visual, and the landing zone on the moon is hundreds of times bigger than that. It’s fine.”
But after our little asphyxiation adventure, nobody’s really in the mood to stick around the waystation, so mostly all we do is wait, anxious
ly. Whatever went wrong in that gallery doesn’t bode well for the station as a whole, and nobody wants to think about doing experiments for the kids back home when every step we take feels like tapping an eggshell with fire inside.
You can find Hellstrom almost any hour of the night, running the station’s outer rim, even join her for a lap or two. Or you can check in on Pippa, murmuring sweetly to her prized molds and algae, designing complex systems to store and catalog them. Harbaugh’s seemingly always awash in paperwork, reports and charts, double and triple-checking them, but even he finds the time to run laps. Circles and circles, like a caged animal. Morale must be at a low point if even the captain is becoming quiet and resigned.
Alden fills his time with solitary study, designing scenario after scenario for the rest of our trip. Considering we’ve already had about three times the reasonable number of cataclysms, further chaos seems unlikely to me. Knock on wood, or whatever they used instead of wood here. But I know determining outcomes is what keeps him calm, so I’m happy to let him have it.
I do little upgrades and maintenance projects with Alden, but I mostly just walk around. I like to turn out as many lights as I can and go touring in my socks and PJs. There’s something sleepy and comforting and a little strange about wandering the empty station in silence. Like a little kid up past his bedtime.
Occasionally, Alden comes with me on these jaunts, but not often. And every six hours or so, no matter where we are on the station, our bodies call us back to bed. Running circadian rhythms around us like a cocoon. Or like bears, hibernating in preparation for some new season. Like Pippa’s shoots and leaves, going so still you think they’re dead, right before a burst of growth and color.
Alden likes the chaos, I think. He solves problems in a very different way than I do, but it’s nice for him in the same way. And it’s getting clearer that Alden really enjoys hanging in the sky, above Earth. Looking down from a safe distance.
Early on, Pippa staked out a spot on the bridge that’s transparent almost all the way around. The schematics call this the observation gallery, and Pippa was overjoyed when she realized her experiments didn’t require a clean room, so she could set up shop there. Soon enough, it became the captain’s office too, and sort of the heart of the whole operation.