Taste

He could remember the smooth and winsome curves of her body and the way her flesh felt so smooth beneath his fingers. He could remember the sweet, wet taste of her on his tongue and the way she seemed to slip into every crevice of his body, filling the very depths of his need for her. He remembered the way she looked in the morning, sitting across the table from him at breakfast and glowing resplendent in the light of dawn. Even if she'd always been a cold bitch to the rest of the crew, Captain Matthews knew she was there for him.

No longer, though. All he had left was the bitter memories and the faintest taste of her on his lips. She--she was gone. His hand tightened on the edge of the Elsa's fridge door, digging in 'til his knuckles whitened. Anger bubbled in his throat, but it wouldn't bring her back. None of his anguished cries would, for she was gone.

"All right, ya morons! Who the hell drank my last Miltia Pale!"