Roderich never quite looked forward to exploration missions on unknown planets. They required surviving in all kinds of harsh terrain, and dealing with unexpected incidents and unfriendly inhabitants - all in the company of Roderich's least favourite surveyor (or so he told himself), Gilbert Beilschmidt, whom for some reason he kept being paired with.
Yet today's mission took an extreme turn that exceeded Roderich's worst expectations. It was worse even than that time they were almost eaten alive by a giant worm-thing with several rows of rotating teeth while waist-deep in green mud.
Today, their spaceship crashed on a desert planet a thousand lightyears away from their destination, and Gilbert decided to try and fix the engine by himself. That itself wouldn't have been so bad, if only he hadn't chosen to take off his shirt and his trousers and work in nothing but his short and tight underwear.
"I set up a distress signal," Roderich called out from his shaded spot underneath the spaceship's hull, squinting as he watched Gilbert's blindingly white form. "We should be rescued within an hour."
"I know," Gilbert replied, straightening up for a moment to wipe his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. "But I want to try anyway." Then he went back to fiddling around with his large phase oscillator wrench.
Roderich sighed with exasperation. He could see the tight muscles shifting under Gilbert's pale skin, and every bead of sweat dripping down his freckled shoulders and back, down to his fine and firm ass. Truly, he wouldn't mind if Gilbert tried to fix the engine while fully dressed. This way was bad because… Because… he would get sunburned. Yeah, that's probably why it made Roderich so uncomfortable. "You're gonna get sunburned," he said, his mouth very dry, not only thanks to the heat. "You shouldn't have taken off your clothes."
"I know," Gilbert said again, cheerfully, looking back at him over his shoulder. Then winked.
The heat seemed to suddenly intensify a hundredfold as Roderich was washed over by a wave of mixed irritation and sexual frustration. "She's never going to fly again," he announced, "no point in what you're doing."
The corners or Gilbert's lips quirked upwards with amusement. "I know, but I can still- oh! it worked." The hind propeller kicked into motion, creating a pleasant breeze. Gilbert stood in front of it with his hands on his hips and let the wind blow his sweaty hair all over.
"Good job," Roderich muttered.
Gilbert grinned at him, then turned and climbed back into the ship. A moment later he re-emerged with two bottles of ice-cold beer. He plopped down on the sand beside Roderich, and handed one bottle over after cracking it open with the phase oscillator wrench.
"Where did that come from?" Roderich demanded.
"From the toolbox," Gilbert replied, fondly patting the wrench.
"I meant the beer."
"Oh." Gilbert pulled on an innocent expression and shrugged. "What does it matter?"
"... Are you keeping a secret alcohol stash in our ship?"
Gilbert chose to ignore to question, and quickly raised his bottle. "To many more great adventures in the future!"
"More?" Roderich muttered. "Great?" However, he followed Gilbert's example and drank. The coldness pouring down his throat, together with the breeze from the now-spinning propeller, did much to lift his spirits.
"Nice view, innit?" Gilbert asked.
Roderich looked towards the horizon, which was defined by a row of yellow dunes. Above the line where yellow met pale cloudless blue, hung two burning suns. The desert was absolutely still and lifeless. "It's very… Calm, yeah. "
He almost didn't notice when Gilbert shifted his butt on the sand and moved closer, and jumped when he realised there were only a few centimeters separating them. "What are you doing?"
"I wanna tell you something." Gilbert was looking straight into his eyes, which was distressing.
"Uh..." Roderich cleared his throat. "What is it?"
"Have you ever wondered how come we always end up on the same missions? Together?"
"Y-yeah. Been asking myself this whole fucking year."
"Well, it's because I like you," Gilbert continued bluntly, "and I love spending time with you."
"...Oh." He really hadn't expected that; or had he? Some part in the back of his mind had always been aware. "I'm sorry… I Don't…" he stuttered, trying to put together a sensible sentence with a mind that seemed to had turned into jelly.. But what was he to reply? How should he explain that he didn't feel the same way? (Or… didn't he?) He didn't want to hurt Gilbert's feelings, he looked so hopeful, and Roderich had to admit that he did secretly look forward to their time together. Gilbert was able to cheer him up when no one else could. Anyway, Roderich was being very distracted by those stunning abs, and the sun was probably getting to him, for he felt himself being drawn towards Gilbert as if he were an electromagnetic space-wave filter. At the end of this confusing tornado of thoughts, the only thing that escaped his dried lips, in a faint, raspy voice, was, "oh, Gil, kiss me…"
Gilbert's eyes grew as wide as saucers, then he did as told. They clutched at each other and fell over the sand, giving free rein to passion too-long restrained, taking in brief lungfuls of sand-filled heated air between kisses. Roderich's fingers stroked Gilbert's muscular chest, scratched at his sexy back and were about to grab his absolutely divine ass when they were suddenly interrupted by the roar of a landing spaceship.
"Get up, you dumbasses," boomed a voice on loud speakers, "I had to come here during my goddamn lunch-break. So don't make me wait."
They hastily got up and brushed the sand off as a strong blue light fell upon them. Gilbert hugged Roderich to his chest as the tractor beam carried them up through the air, towards the hovering rescue. "Don't worry," he reassured, "we can pick that up later right where we left it."