Rotation

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Neither John nor Dorian had been on an orbit vacation before but they were going now to get as far away from work as possible. For John, far away enough meant a two-week outer space cruise that took them around the moon and back. And if there had been a cruise leaving today that went farther out, that is the one they'd be boarding instead.

It was Richard Paul's fault. Kind of. He had walked in on them in the interrogation room, their lips locked, their hands twisting, gripping at provocative fistfuls of each other. It didn't take long for the word to spread. Everything snowballed into a long and awkward talk in Captain Maldonado's office that ended with the promise that as long as their relationship didn't change the way they worked, the board wouldn't need to be notified. They were told to cool it in public, never in the precinct again, and to keep their relationship neat and tucked away. Then she put John on paid leave so they could work things out.

They left her office, John silent and angry, his eyebrows a precipice over his darkened face. No one made eye contact as he yanked his coat from his desk chair, nearly knocking it over, and threaded his arms through. He slapped off the power on his console, shot the other detectives a derisive glance, and left the building. Dorian trailed him like a funeral procession, his shoulders rounded softly and his head down.

They got in the cruiser and sat there a moment while John breathed hard through his nose. Dorian seemed unsure where to look, eyes skipping between his lap and the window. Finally, the seething human punched the engine and drove them recklessly home.

"I can go to Rudy's," Dorian blurted as they parked the car in its designated spot. John killed the ignition and regarded the android who continued to babble. "I didn't want to do this to you, to mess up your relationships at work, to make things awkward. I could get you fired. I don't want this for you."

John shoved his car door open and got out, standing in the cool air. He tapped his hand against the roof of the cruiser and ran the tip of his tongue back and forth over his dry lips, his eyes roving the parking garage in annoyance. Nodding to himself, he slammed the car door as hard as he could.

Dorian flinched, rootless and unable to determine what to do, where to go. Then his door was wrenched open and John reached in, took hold of his coat collar, and dragged him out of his seat.

Surprised and unsure of what was happening, Dorian's eyebrows flew up toward his hairline. John ran a hand around the back of Dorian's neck and kissed his boyfriend hard, knocking them both back against the vehicle. They nearly toppled before John broke the connection, seizing Dorian by the hand and dragging him toward home.

Unused to John's enthusiasm and control, Dorian felt his emotions peaking as his lover dragged him to their shared home.

Inside, John ripped off his jacket and tossed it messily to the floor. "We're getting out of here," he snarled. "Pack your charger, pack your shit. We need a fucking vacation."

Dorian looked unsure. "I'm sorry, John. I just want you to know I'm so sorry."

John stopped and looked at him with hurt, wet eyes. "Dee, you didn't do a fucking thing." He closed the gap between them, his fingers framing Dorian's face.

"You're so upset," Dorian said, his hands knotted together.

"I'm fucking mad," John agreed, "but not at you." He delivered a soft and sincere kiss to Dorian's parted lips, broke away, and walked over to the light screen, tapping it on. He looked over his shoulder at Dorian who still stood there in his coat, hesitant. "Sandra has the nerve to tell us to keep our relationship quiet. Fuck that, man."

"She was only thinking of your career, John," Dorian reasoned.

John waved him off, still booking their tickets.

Dorian watched his human stab at the air of the light screen, guilt and happiness competing for reign over his synthetic soul. "John, we don't have to run away."

John jerked to face him. "I said go get ready, Dee. And we aren't running away. This is normal, the most normal thing we've ever done. Real couples go away together and you deserve it. I'm giving you this vacation."

"I don't need it," Dorian promised.

John pulled out his cell phone and charged the trip.

. . . . . . . .

John leaned naked into the huge picture window of their suite on the massive luxury liner, looking at the scarred surface of the moon. It was a desolate, pock-marked desert; a lonely mass separate and distant from the roiling landscape of life that was the Earth. He felt Dorian's hands on his hips, and soft lips on his shoulders, and he pitied the moon.