He didn't like staring up at unfamiliar ceilings.
He hated the way that every ship, even though they were supposed to be uniform in design and structure, looked different. Especially their ceilings, depending on who had roomed their private quarters, what their habits were, what their dirty little secrets were…
People could be deciphered entirely, he'd decided long ago, from their rooms. Even if they weren't there to occupy them anymore.
Take the room he was in right then - the ceiling had little dark discolorations, above the bed, above where he assumed a desk had once sat if the discolorations on the deck plating were any indication. Smoker, definitely, regardless of the fact that such a thing was against regulations on ships. The deck plates looked like they'd been scrubbed again and again, but there were still scuffs and marks all over them - someone hadn't cared much for the room that the UNSC provided them…
Anton-044 could have made a couple jokes about it, but there was no one to listen, and he wasn't in the mood. Especially now, after lights out, when the entire bloody ship was silent and he was all alone to his thoughts.
It was easy to maintain the façade of the joker, of the one who was always laughing, always smiling, with his brothers and sisters, with others on the outside… While within, he was screaming in agony with every moment that he lived…
And she was no help.
Linda…
He closed his eyes, at the thought of deep crimson hair and brilliant green eyes floated through his mind, of her challenging voice and soft skin… the scent of her hair and the soft sounds she made when she'd straddle his waist, work her hips against his, working him up, teasing him…
… To inevitably leave him both wholly dissatisfied and thoroughly embarrassed. The only SPARTAN who could get off a good one with Anton every single time. And as Fred had so delicately put it, who could keep him from "getting off" every time.
Anton sighed, wearily, as he rolled over onto his side, trying to get more comfortable once again. It wasn't really possible - beds were almost always too small for him and the other SPARTANs - well, that and he wasn't ready to sleep yet. The day had been utterly fruitless - the ethics investigation he'd been placed on was going absolutely no where, and he had nothing left to do but admit defeat and get ready to spend the rest of the week proving whether or not the ones who'd reported the issues in the first place should be censored for attempting to smear the name of a capable captain…
Things would have been easier if the mission itself hadn't started off frustrating. And that was to say, physically frustrating…
We were in the shower, together again…
Talking like we always do…
And then you came over, again… You put your hands on my waist, pressed your body against mine - I could feel your breasts, soft, against my back… Your breath against my shoulder…
Your hands moved down, slid around my…
Anton bit his lower lip, grumbled something in annoyance as he rolled over again, punched his pillow twice and tried to settle again.
You always sound so serious.
You always sound like you… like you might feel something for me, that's not just friendship.
Because God only knows, my feelings for you go far beyond just physical attraction…
But you always sound so serious whenever you touch my body, even though I know in the end, you're a goddamn cocktease…
Then the call had come over the intercom for him, and he'd had to hurry away, trying his best to hide the subsequent erection that Linda had gifted him with…
They'd shipped him off in the course of an hour and a half, and before he'd left, suited in the MJOLNIR, she'd been waiting by the transport for him…
She'd kissed his visor, teasingly… and she'd copped a discreet feel below the waist…
He could still feel the fire of her touch.
Anton rolled over again, thinking, pondering…
He didn't know when he'd decided to start touching himself, gently, delicately... At first, he was almost unconscious of the movements of his own hands, as they traced over his skin, trying in vain to mimic the touch of his fiery-haired beloved…
He flushed, faintly, as his hands found their way below his waist, beneath the waistband of his nightclothes…
It was pathetic, really - that he wanted her this badly. Why couldn't they just be friends? Why couldn't he just move on, leave her behind and forget about it…?
Because every single time she's found you with a hooker on leave, it looks like her heart's breaking…Whenever she finds you afterwards, she looks like you've betrayed her…
… Till she beats you senseless for being such a dog of a man.
Hands circled about his sex, Anton bit back a soft groan… Then released himself as he slid out of the bottom half of his nightclothes, laid the sheets back carefully… Cool cotton against pale white skin…
He lay back, eyes fixing again on the unfamiliar ceiling above…
"You're so disgusting, Anton! I mean, do you know where that thing's BEEN!?"
"Her name was Leeda, and I couldn't care less about where she's been, so much as how much she charged and for how long."
Oh, she'd always get so angry with him, for his flippant attitude…
Hands circled about his member once again, fingertips slowly playing along it's gradually firming length…
He remembered the way she'd looked at him the last time - right when she walked in the door and found him…
She'd been going to tell him something, he could tell it from the mischievous look in her eyes and the smile on her lips…
But then she'd found him in bed with the auburn haired girl, with the pretty green eyes… and something in hers had killed him in that instant.
Betrayal.
Hurt.
Anger.
And maybe something else…
Sometimes, he liked to pretend that she loved him.
A soft moan escaped his lips, as fingers stroked his length, played about the tip gently before running back down once again.
Sometimes… Sometimes he liked to imagine that maybe she felt something for him, beyond a possessive sort of friendship… That maybe Linda thought of him as more than just another one of the guys…
His hand closed about his member, set to stroking his length with slow deliberation, and he bit his lower lip against making a sound, crimson eyes closing as he let his imagination run free as it would…
Sometimes he liked to imagine that those were her hands, running over his skin…Sometimes he liked to imagine that it wasn't his hand encircling his member, but instead her body… Sometimes he imagined he could feel her legs around his waist, her body and his joined at last…
Another soft moan escaped him, unbidden… then another, then another, as his hand worked faster, and faster.
He could imagine the soft, delicate sounds she would make… He could imagine her hands on his skin, clinging to his shoulders, short nails running over his back…
It was so hard to be quiet, sometimes…
He could imagine what it would feel like, having her body beneath his, both of them locked in the pleasure they found within each other… He could imagine her breathing his name, begging him not to stop…
He could almost see her green eyes meeting his… And he could imagine her saying three little words and a name…
"I love you Anton…"
A sharp, almost boyish cry escaped him as he came… As his daydream fantasies exploded around him and the throes of pleasure overwhelmed his senses…
Always so soon. It always ended so quickly - his daydreams about Linda never ceased to do that to him.
And in the end, he was left like he always was. Alone, with his own seed spattered over his fingers, and a sense of inadequacy and embarrassment that he just couldn't shake.
"…. Like a fuckin kid…" He couldn't help the edge of disappointment that lurked just beneath the surface of his breathless, shaking tone.
It took several minutes for him to gather his legs beneath him, before he stumbled to the bathroom, to wash the evidence of his shame from his hands.
Sleep was not going to come easily, tonight.