An Adult Pastime
Author's Note: Scribbled in a manic hour and half, after spending a full day in end-of-season-4 blues, then re-watching bits of second season. Something to ease my mind. None of them are mine, I'm just playing with them for a bit. They belong to JMS and TNT, I guess. Rated PG 13 for language and adult themes. My first attempt at writing 2end person POV. No spoilers, could be placed anywhere in seasons 1-3, but is most likely season 1. Thanks to Joannie Milligan, my faithful beta.
There's nothing to it, you tell yourselves. Just two consenting adults engaging in an adult diversion. It's a distraction for you, relief from the insanity of daily life on the station. You think nobody sees.
You don't need definitions. You're good friends- 'casual fuck-buddies', you called it when she asked you. Women like definitions, and she's never been really comfortable with that one, but it works for you. And she's fine with it, as long as it stays your little secret. She needs it, just like you. No definitions, no strings attached. Simple, straight-forward sex.
She's a good woman, Michael, and a good officer. And you're the best chief I could've hoped for. You're good for each other- not the settling down type, either of you. Free spirits. You're careful with each other, sometimes; as if you know too much about the other, might let something slip. Sometimes you do, and then you cover it up so smoothly that almost nobody notices. Almost.
They're never planned, your encounters. There's something almost telepathic that passes between you, a detection of subtle signals that tell you it's time to clear the evening before one or both of you explodes. Sometimes you're in your quarters, sometime in hers- it seems to depend on who's needy at that moment, who's most likely to fall asleep right afterwards and not be able to make it back. You almost never spend the entire night together. She wakes up way too early for you, and she's not much of a morning person, anyway. Some days, though, you just 'happen' to come to breakfast together, bantering and joking like it's every other day. I know you both too well. It's a matter of needing some kind of human emotion, any kind of physical contact that isn't fighting. And you can give that to each other.
In a way, you're both very lucky. I think you know that, too. She sure does. You've both been burned too badly in the past to have a 'normal' relationship now. Not yet, at least. It's the safest sort of relationship there is- nothing deeper than a superficial anatomical compatibility, combined with a friendship so deep that the ups and down of sex simply can't shake it. She knows you'd never hurt her, and you know she'll never fall in love with you, and that's enough for both of you.
It's good for me, too. Good that you're both relaxed, that you have a way of letting off steam. I can almost imagine it, the things I'm not supposed to see- a subtle gaze from one end of C&C to the other, a slight shake of the head. You know the other's shifts by heart by now.
There's never dinner before, no romance. You're both too busy, too tired. But you can describe your day- the small smugglers and incidents at the Zocalo, the ships coming in, demanding service and offloading yet more trouble. You can yell and cry and comfort each other, if you need to.
And then you fuck. There's nothing romantic about that either. I doubt you ever use each other's first names, even in private, in your most intimate moments. It's too close- to call her Susan would be...crossing a line neither of you are willing to cross. She only calls you Michael when she's angry or pulling some kind of practical joke. No, for you it's a quick tumble on whichever flat surface you end up on, with the privacy locks engaged and your links, just for that short time, put away. You know where you are. When you're together you can both let down your guards. There are things you know about her even I don't know, and I'm sure there's a secret or two you've kept from me but told her. There's a reason I call you lucky.
Afterwards, you separate. You can't risk being found out, can't really stay together at night. Still, I can imagine you sometimes, when things get really bad, lying there, curled up into each other. You're much bigger than her- I hope you're careful. But she'll get up, wash and leave, going back to her quarters by way of C&C, just to make sure. Or you'll leave, go on a quick patrol, and end up in your own bed.
Do you really think I don't know you each have a spare change of clothing in the other's room?
Do I care? Of course I care. I'm happy for you. I want you to be happy together, even if you aren't really 'together'. It helps you in your job, and that's what I need. If you gain spiritual and emotional joy from it, all the better. As Delenn once told me, the bonds between brothers in arms can be stronger than those between brothers in blood.
I won't tell, but I'm still watching you. Both of you. I trust you to take care of each other. You are, after all, consenting adults.
Author's Note: Scribbled in a manic hour and half, after spending a full day in end-of-season-4 blues, then re-watching bits of second season. Something to ease my mind. None of them are mine, I'm just playing with them for a bit. They belong to JMS and TNT, I guess. Rated PG 13 for language and adult themes. My first attempt at writing 2end person POV. No spoilers, could be placed anywhere in seasons 1-3, but is most likely season 1. Thanks to Joannie Milligan, my faithful beta.
There's nothing to it, you tell yourselves. Just two consenting adults engaging in an adult diversion. It's a distraction for you, relief from the insanity of daily life on the station. You think nobody sees.
You don't need definitions. You're good friends- 'casual fuck-buddies', you called it when she asked you. Women like definitions, and she's never been really comfortable with that one, but it works for you. And she's fine with it, as long as it stays your little secret. She needs it, just like you. No definitions, no strings attached. Simple, straight-forward sex.
She's a good woman, Michael, and a good officer. And you're the best chief I could've hoped for. You're good for each other- not the settling down type, either of you. Free spirits. You're careful with each other, sometimes; as if you know too much about the other, might let something slip. Sometimes you do, and then you cover it up so smoothly that almost nobody notices. Almost.
They're never planned, your encounters. There's something almost telepathic that passes between you, a detection of subtle signals that tell you it's time to clear the evening before one or both of you explodes. Sometimes you're in your quarters, sometime in hers- it seems to depend on who's needy at that moment, who's most likely to fall asleep right afterwards and not be able to make it back. You almost never spend the entire night together. She wakes up way too early for you, and she's not much of a morning person, anyway. Some days, though, you just 'happen' to come to breakfast together, bantering and joking like it's every other day. I know you both too well. It's a matter of needing some kind of human emotion, any kind of physical contact that isn't fighting. And you can give that to each other.
In a way, you're both very lucky. I think you know that, too. She sure does. You've both been burned too badly in the past to have a 'normal' relationship now. Not yet, at least. It's the safest sort of relationship there is- nothing deeper than a superficial anatomical compatibility, combined with a friendship so deep that the ups and down of sex simply can't shake it. She knows you'd never hurt her, and you know she'll never fall in love with you, and that's enough for both of you.
It's good for me, too. Good that you're both relaxed, that you have a way of letting off steam. I can almost imagine it, the things I'm not supposed to see- a subtle gaze from one end of C&C to the other, a slight shake of the head. You know the other's shifts by heart by now.
There's never dinner before, no romance. You're both too busy, too tired. But you can describe your day- the small smugglers and incidents at the Zocalo, the ships coming in, demanding service and offloading yet more trouble. You can yell and cry and comfort each other, if you need to.
And then you fuck. There's nothing romantic about that either. I doubt you ever use each other's first names, even in private, in your most intimate moments. It's too close- to call her Susan would be...crossing a line neither of you are willing to cross. She only calls you Michael when she's angry or pulling some kind of practical joke. No, for you it's a quick tumble on whichever flat surface you end up on, with the privacy locks engaged and your links, just for that short time, put away. You know where you are. When you're together you can both let down your guards. There are things you know about her even I don't know, and I'm sure there's a secret or two you've kept from me but told her. There's a reason I call you lucky.
Afterwards, you separate. You can't risk being found out, can't really stay together at night. Still, I can imagine you sometimes, when things get really bad, lying there, curled up into each other. You're much bigger than her- I hope you're careful. But she'll get up, wash and leave, going back to her quarters by way of C&C, just to make sure. Or you'll leave, go on a quick patrol, and end up in your own bed.
Do you really think I don't know you each have a spare change of clothing in the other's room?
Do I care? Of course I care. I'm happy for you. I want you to be happy together, even if you aren't really 'together'. It helps you in your job, and that's what I need. If you gain spiritual and emotional joy from it, all the better. As Delenn once told me, the bonds between brothers in arms can be stronger than those between brothers in blood.
I won't tell, but I'm still watching you. Both of you. I trust you to take care of each other. You are, after all, consenting adults.