Joker and Miranda were bucking into quietly into each other stolen away in the showers, with all the inelegancy of 2 horses in heat. Like a stud kicking with his haunches, blowing staggering thrusts into his receptacle, Miranda was taking the frenzied might of Joker's member. Over the weeks following what was being referred to as 'The Encounter', where a cluster of unidentified ships in the orbit of Planet Trident splintered upon the Black Rain's approach and armed weapons before fleeing, a the crew had been keeping unusually sedentary at the behest of command. They were to wait, spiralling around Trident until either they made contact again for a month elapsed.
In the spec of the cabin against the bright blue blotch of in space, the 4 crew members milled about like ants in an ant hill performing their duties, eating, 'blaring' signals to attract the attention of the 'Encounter' ships, and playing cards. They had lapsed into sedentary lethargy. No one was used to life on a vessel of this size. As each day passed the web of interpersonal connections blurred and fuzzed. They greeted each other less frequently, and developed a greater tolerance for each others personal hygiene. At dinner they sat in total silence, head dipped into their trays, stabbing lumpy packages of dried oats and other earth arrangements. As they performed their duties; general maintenance, sewage purging, etc. the aural variety they benefited from keeping their sanity was the breath of the atmosphere, the quivering and quaking of the ship.
As the Black Rain spun around the concave slopes of Trident's orbit in 'long-live mode', it hissed, and tapped and sighed. The crew members were beginning to grow fond of the Black Rain.
In this slow sliver of their life, where hours passed a whole hour at a time, their need for connection diminished in all but one fashion. Couplets of crew members: Miranda and Joker, EDI and Shiala, paired secretly (not so secretly), to tend to in a matter-of-fact way the reality of mounting sexual tension in the ship.
Once a day, sometimes twice, a couplet would steel themselves away into a quiet, un-parolled part of the ship and hump away with the furore of slum-children discovering sex for the first time. It was matter-of-fact, and without the flavour of emotional frenzy that so often breathes life into sex.
In the course of 7 minutes, Joker had taken Miranda to climax on the floor with his hands, and his cock - upright in the gravityless confines of the shower, where she quivered and released down the thighs of her partner.
They heaved and huffed in close confines. Miranda's left leg slung over Joker's shoulder, and he with thick purchase on her backside, squeezing the very paleness from her meat. He sank himself inside over and over, the pleasure never seeming to wane. He knew his part of the social contract was fulfilled with a lap full of her expulsion, now he was only concerned with milking himself.
"I think I'm ready" Joker whispered. And as if the command was issued to a machine, Miranda kicked off the floor and arranged herself in a different position, standing with her back to him.
He smooshed the pillowey meat of her backside over his swelling member and thrust with his thighs through it. When his load began to spill it did it in characteristically long, built-up pulses. Like blood from an arterial wound - and in similar volumes too. Some pulses flew through the zero-g environment and slid up her back, other got caught in the plunge of her backside and slicked her cheeks and his meat all up in his cum. About 200 millilitres of soupy seed pumped from his balls and the session came to a word-less end. The shared shower filled with water and the pair scrubbed each other down.