Temptation

A Battle of Planets vignette

This story is based on characters and situations based on the 1970s anime series 'Battle of the Planets' (produced by Sandy Frank Entertainment) which was in turn derived from the series 'Science Ninja Team Gatchaman' (created by Tatsunoko Productions). Characters are used without permission, and not for profit.

I study his lithe form as he moves through the practise patterns. Muscles ripple under the fabric of his uniform, and he flexes his legs, launching from a standing jump into a back flip.

There is a beauty to him. A grace and a rhythm. Masculine, yes, but beautiful nonetheless.

I stand at the edge of the gym's practise area, and feel privileged to see this display. I know that, even if neither of us will ever admit it, he likes having me here as he trains. And I like to be here too.

In a few moments he'll call me over, and we'll practise together. Perhaps today we'll play opposite sides in the unending battle for which we train. Perhaps we'll fight side by side against remotes programmed to be as unpredictable as possible. Either way, we'll learn more about each other. We'll improve our effectiveness as team mates, without ever coming closer to one another than brushing wings or exchanging glancing blows.

We're careful about that, you know. I'm sure the rest of the team has noticed it, even if no one else has. It's a rare event when the two of us really touch. It has to be. Such temptation couldn't be borne on a day to day, moment by moment, basis.

He lands from his back flip, his wings flaring behind him as he spreads his arms to steady himself. For a moment, he's framed against the light. A dark shadow - his arms out from his sides, his muscular legs and perfect chest no more than silhouettes. He lowers his arms and shifts so that light spills across him, but his visor hides his expression as he turns towards me.

I wonder whether that look is in his eyes again. The look he sometimes gets when he's sure I can't see his face. Despite everything, I doubt it. He's more careful than that, only letting it through in the direst of circumstances.

As am I.

My breath has caught in my throat, admiration and desire squeezing my chest, but I know that my face shows nothing of it. I'm smiling a small smile of anticipation for the training session ahead, nothing more. There have been too many years now of schooling my expression, too many missions on which I've had to think of him as my Commander and nothing more.

Mark raises his hand, beckoning me forward, and the pressure in my chest eases. I'm all focus now, my mind on the task ahead as I push my own hopes and dreams aside. There will be time for other thoughts later, when Zoltar's plans lie in ruins and the five of us are finally free.

My Commander moves smoothly into a defensive position, and I take the invitation, launching a flying kick at his chest. He moves to one side faster than the eye can follow, reaching out to push at my legs as I pass by. I twist away from him in mid air, flaring my wings to provide lift and let me turn the rotation into an aerial somersault. Mark nods in approval, then shifts into an attacking posture as I stand ready to defend myself.

There are no thoughts of desire in my conscious mind now. My longing hasn't faded, but I've pushed it away, locked it into the back of my mind. Training is important. We need to be on top form, to protect ourselves and to protect each other. We don't need distractions.

I can resist my temptation when he is with me, because I must.

And we will both survive this war, because we must.

I have confidence in that. I can't believe that we have both resisted temptation this long for nothing.

The universe just isn't that cruel.

The End.