Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Content warning: This story contains a lot of swear words and sexually explicit material, and is thoroughly NSFW

I picked up the emergency beacon signal like five hours ago. It was one of those old ones, where all it says is "Emergency" and some coordinates. Usually, this means it's a Belter, but occasionally it's an older Patriarchy ship, since they're cheap-asses because they're assholes, not because they don't have the funds. I figured it was worth checking out. I mean, yeah, it's the right thing to do, Spacer's Code, whatever. Maybe there'd be some good salvage, though, and there was always a chance I'd find someone still kicking, who would want a lift. Not usually, though. Generally, once that beacon goes off, you're fucked.

Finally, I got close. I had the nav system hold a couple clicks off, and ran through the likely channels on the com. There wasn't any voice activity, but there was a faint telemetry signal off a suit. The computer took a few seconds to get a complete data packet, then I saw what it said. Just basic vital signs, but whoever it was, they were still alive.

With a bit of a sigh, I nudged us closer. They were alive, so this wasn't a salvage mission any more, alas. I mean, yay, they were alive. But a ship that's not too busted up is worth bank, and now it was still their ship, and I was obliged to rescue them and bring them wherever they could get the medical attention they would doubtless need after an emergency evac bad enough to trip that beacon.

I should explain: I was in a 2316 Markley OreScooper, which is a decent mining ship, even if it is nearly 30 years old, but not what you'd call a posh living space. It wasn't as bad as the lower-spec Prospector model, which only has the pilot's seat as habitable quarters. At least I had a little living chamber behind my seat, where I had a sleep net, a flusher, and a microwave. I wasn't stuck eating all my meals out of a tube, and crapping in literally the same seat I sat in to fly, which was a serious plus in my book.

We got closer, and I got a look at the wreck. It didn't look bad, but I couldn't see where the suit was. I finally had to pull out the direction-finding dish to track it down, a couple hundred meters off from the ship, slowly rotating against the stars. Of course, the bad news was it was a Patriarchy ship, and not a Belter. No warm fuzzies for me, but I was here, and that poor not-yet-corpsicle was out there. The screen said they were still alive, so I nudged us closer and clambered into my suit to go grab 'em.

I maneuvered slowly toward the rotating suit, though I definitely paused to look over the ship as I passed by. Scribed on the hull in the boringly predictable nose location they always used was the name Imperium VII. Awesome, a patrolship. My arch rival, and here I was snagging its pilot from the inky blackness like a sucker. It wasn't the kind of rivalry where we could leave each other to die of exposure, though, so I brought the motionless suit back through the airlock with me and into the now-very-cramped living quarters. I couldn't help noticing the name patch as I did: Johnson-Tyree. There was a little familiar ping in my memory, but I couldn't place it. Not like it was a super uncommon name, though.

I punched the emergency release on the chest panel after taking off my own helmet, and my new friend's helmet released with a little hiss. Shit, that was close, if it hissed, that meant this poor fool was close to running empty. I got the helmet off and wrestled my hand out of the glove to check her pulse. Still there. Whew. For all that I was grumbling about this little rescue mission, I didn't actually want anyone to die.

And, fuck. I looked out at this Johnson-Tyree person's ship glinting through the front screen. I'd have to drag that junker back with me to Charvis Base, which was the nearest rock with a proper medical facility. Damn damn damn. My hopper was nearly full of what looked like some damn good ore. This bitch was going to pay for that load. There was no way I could haul both the ore and her ship at the same time. I was sorely tempted to leave the ship there and say my towing rig was busted, but my do-gooder nature got the better of me.

Anyway, before I could get too worked up about it, she woke up, and I paid attention to her face for the first time. She looked familiar, but I couldn't figure out why. I didn't know the name. It was possible she was a Belter; she had that long-tallness that we all get from growing up mostly in zero G.

She looked at me with a tired, bleary expression on her face. "Who the fuck are you?" Her voice was gravelly, as if she'd been drinking and smoking for a long time. I was still feeling like a smartass, so I snapped off my best salute, and said, "Christy van Hoop, rescuer and occasional miner, all present and accounted for, sir, etc. etc. etc." I grinned. She didn't smile back.

She closed her eyes then spoke again. "What do you mean, rescuer? Where are we?"

"I dunno, but I think we're about ten hours from Charvis Base, which is where you need to be, my new Patriarchal pal." She winced as I spoke. I tried to remember what hypoxia did to a brain, without any success. Maybe she had a headache?

"Jesus. Charvis Base? Like the Belter station?"

"Yes sir! I mean ma'am!" My smarmy grin was getting tiring, so I dropped the act. "Let's get you out of this thing, I found you floating next to your ship, and I picked up your beacon almost six hours ago, so your shit's probably at least a little wrecked right now. I've got a flusher behind you, and can get you spongebath supplies shortly. How do you feel?"

"Like ass. What am I doing out this far? I was supposed to be heading for Ares Station."

I decided not to answer this obviously rhetorical question. We were days and days from Ares Station, which is in orbit around Mars, and we were in the middle of the asteroid belt. Like days and days of max burn there and back. The rules of delta V are not kind, and I didn't think her patrolship had the kind of range to seriously do that burn. But that wasn't my problem. I unlatched the swivels at arms and legs, and helped her wriggle out of the suit. Her undersuit was stained and gross, like she'd been living in it for days.

Trying to make good conversation as we worked, I asked, "What were you headed there for? Top secret Patriarchy Inc business, I imagine." She didn't look inclined to answer, so I pressed on. "What's your name, by the way? Call me Crystal, the only people who call me Christy are usually trying to collect bills."

She gave me a weird look, taking her attention off the waist catch she'd been fumbling with. Her suit was not Patriarchy state of the art, this was an old model. Her eyes narrowed, something clearly clicking into place in her head. "Hi Crystal."

That voice. It all snapped into focus. I did know the name Johnson-Tyree. "Crusher?" My voice sounded incredulous, which is not an adjective I normally associate with my voice.

"Yeah. Small universe, Crystal."

"Jesus fucking christ."

"Funny running into you out here."

We got her out of the suit in something more of a frosty silence than when I'd started.

Some useful backstory to understand what's going on here. Crusher, as she was known at the time, is Margot Johnson-Tyree. I didn't exactly know her, so much as I knew of her. See, we were both basing ourselves out of the Portcullis Gate station a few years ago, and on a station that size, you kinda know everybody. She got the nickname Crusher as kind of a dual-purpose thing: lots of people got crushes on her, but she almost universally turned 'em down; and she actually crushed a watermelon between her thighs on a bet once after some dickhole said she couldn't do it. There was alcohol involved. He paid for the melon too, that shit must have cost a pretty penny. I didn't see it, but it was a famous story. She was famous. When she left, it was not a great time for anyone, but I couldn't remember exactly why or how. What the hell was she doing on my ship?

We were close enough to the same size that she was able to borrow one of my jumpsuits (taking me from 3 to 2, a substantial reduction in my wardrobe variety). While she was sponging herself off, I busied myself moving the Flaming Lips (my lovely Markley OreScooper, wholly owned by yours truly after a couple really good hauls allowed me to pay off Hemple, that leech) into position and rigging the towing system (and jettisoning my laboriously-collected load of ore, dammit). The stupid offset mass of her janky-ass Patriarchy heap would mean the main thruster would be working at a weird angle, but we'd get there eventually, and the nav system could figure it out after a few tries.

My medical facilities were what you might call "extremely limited." Not quite a box of bandaids and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, but that's not far off. I was only supposed to be out for a couple weeks, and I wasn't prone to getting sick. Fortunately, Crusher didn't seem to be in a bad way, other than generally worn out, so food and water (she grumbled that I didn't have any flavor powder, but I shot her a glare that clearly said she should be grateful she wasn't an icicle right now) were all she really needed. And sleep.

I got us moving in the right direction, and she wedged her shoulders through the port into the command cabin. "Hey," she said, her tone consciously civil. "Thanks." I looked back and nodded, but didn't say anything. As I'd been working, more memories had come back to me. When I said before that she left in a bad way, it was pretty bad.

I seem to recall the words, "Fuck you chaotic fucks and your 'free society' right in the ass! I hope you all spin in! I'm gonna eat your fucking lunch and make sure none of you absolute shitstains ever comes near me again!" were uttered. More or less. In about those words. On a station of like a hundred souls, everyone knew exactly what had happened.

And the worst part was, I was the last one she crushed. It's not exactly true that I only knew of her, like I said before. In fact, it would be closer to the truth to say that actually, I was kinda the reason she left in such a rude hurry. Let's not get too deep into it, shall we? I must have blocked it out, but it all came trickling back, like cold water down my back.

We were only underway for maybe an hour before it happened. There was a sort of a crunk noise from somewhere behind me, which is not what we in the business call a good thing. A reactor ship with an ion drive like an OreScooper doesn't actually make much in the way of noise, once the load is secured. I was just getting up to investigate when the whole world lurched, the seat punched me in the kidney, the lights slammed off, my panel went dead, and a weird disembodied voice announced:

PRIMARY REACTOR EJECTED!

Oh. Shit. Like, seriously. What the fuck.

I realized that there was a yelp echoing in my head, that must have happened around when the ship lurched. Was it me? No, it must have been Crusher, who was theoretically sleeping in the net as we started the long slow burn to Charvis.

"Wha' the fuck, Crystal!?" Her voice was groggy in the darkness.

Guess she was awake.

"I don't know! This stupid piece of shit," I bashed a handy bulkhead for emphasis, "Just ejected the main fucking reactor for some fucking reason! Gah!" I put my hand over my eyes and tried to think.

"Hold on, isn't this an ion drive!?"

"Damn right it's an ion drive. I KNOW. Fuck. Hold on."

The thing about these ion drive ships is that they don't need fuel like the reaction-drive ships, which work more like old-fashioned chemical rockets. They're nowhere near as fast, but they get you there eventually. I mean, yeah, they need fuel, but instead of loading thirty thousand kilos of really expensive, really nasty chemicals, it could run for a couple years off like three keys of whatever fissile material was handy, and they basically never blew up. Except apparently this one had.

I floated back to the panel to see if anything was alive. I was wracking my brain, trying to remember how the emergency power system worked. It was automatic, I was pretty sure, but I might have been paying a mechanic to do my spaceworthiness inspections who didn't actually do a proper, actual, you know, take-things-apart-and-inspect-them inspection, per se. On the plus side, he was hella cheap, and got me back out there quickly and efficiently. The downside was rapidly becoming apparent. Around that time, a little light started blinking on the panel. I cupped my hand around it, and in the reflection from the lighter skin on my palm, read the legend: Emergency Reactor. Well, that was something.

"What the ever loving ass-fuck is going on?" Crusher's voice came through the portal.

I looked at where I thought she probably was, but my glare was obviously lost on her. It was black as space (hah) in here: we were heading out-system, so the sun was somewhere behind us. "I don't know. Calm down, whatever it is, we'll be ok." I sighed heavily, kinda hating myself. I didn't think of myself as a sighing person. "But the backup reactor is online, so we're not going to freeze, and if we cut your little putt-putt loose and eject everything we don't need to live, we're only like a couple weeks out from Charvis."

There was a pause, before her voice filled the tiny space. "A COUPLE WEEKS!?"

I sighed again. Fuck.

"Calm your tits, lady. Lemme see if I can convince some lights to turn on or something."

"Don't you dare tell me to calm my tits!" I could feel the glower radiating off her face. "I do not want to be cooped up in this tiny box with you for two fucking weeks!"

"Yeah, well, do you have a better idea!?" I shouted, almost instantly regretting it. I could feel a headache coming on that promised to be the end of all things, if I wasn't careful. Dammit, I was supposed to be doing this because it wasn't stressful.

Her rejoinder was almost instantaneous, and loud. "Yeah, fuck you, and fuck this pile of junk, I'm going back to my ship and getting it running. You can sit and spin for all I care, I'm outta here! Thanks for picking me up, your money's on the dresser, you cunt!"

All that was then followed by a long string of curses and slithering-fabric noises as she apparently tried to get into her suit in the pitch black of the living space. Honestly, it would have been hilarious if it weren't so goddamn aggravating. Who the hell did she think she was, if she was going to go and leave me after I was the one who fucking rescued her? "Who the fuck do you think you are, leaving me like this? I just pulled your ass out of the deep freeze, and your first thought is to abandon ship and fly off to your Daddy buddies!?" I shouted back. The headache loomed larger.

She didn't reply, which was probably for the better. The cursing got louder, though. Suddenly there was a glow as her chest panel lit up. I couldn't see what the forearm panel was showing for O₂ levels, but I saw the reflected light off her face as she scowled. A very muffled "Motherfucking cunt bastard hell shit ASSHOLE!" resonated out of her helmet before the panel powered down again and I heard the helmet latches being undone.

There was a precarious silence. Barely growling, I said, "How's your oxygen, champ?"

"Fuck you," was the only reply.

I stewed for a minute. Finally, I said, "Look, if you have to go that bad, I can fill you up. I've got an O₂ tank around here somewhere. I have to go EVA too often." My voice was cool and calm, or so I thought.

Likewise, it took her a minute to respond. "No, you're right. I don't even know if my ship is working." There was the sound of the suit locker opening again. "Fuck."

"Crusher," I started, and she made a little noise. "What?"

"Just... don't call me that, ok? My name's Margot. Crusher got left behind five years ago on Portcullis Gate."

"Ok, Margot." Weird. "Let's think for a minute. I think you're right. We don't know what state your ship is in. I don't know those Daddy ships that well, what chance it's in a state to either pull us, or just abandon the ol' Lips and take it?"

She made a disgusted noise. "It's a singleton. And don't call it a Daddy ship. The only way you'd fit is if you were literally sitting on my lap." There was a pause. "No, even that wouldn't work. Fuck. We are so boned. I couldn't tow you, it doesn't have any tow gear." It was my turn to make a noise. "Shut up. It's up to the regs. Just because you have to carry tow gear doesn't mean we do. That's the thing about making the rules."

"What the actual fuck," I whispered to myself. The Spacer's Code is, more or less, Do Not Abandon Your Fellow Spacers, Even if They're Asshole Kinda-Exes Who Should Have Been Left to Spin Out as Icicles. To not carry tow gear was like stocking an emergency medical cabinet with nothing but bubblegum and candy. It was the thing that absolutely defined the basic level of being human in space. That Patriarchy Inc ships weren't carrying tow gear, particularly on a singleton, was like a punch in the guts. "I knew you fuckers were cold, but that's new depths."

"Look, fuck you and your high horse! We're not the same! We don't play by the same rules, and..." Her voice petered out. "Jesus." There was another frosty silence. I turned back to the panel to see if I could figure out how the emergency power could be routed to the lights, any lights. It was getting real weird talking to blackness. Finally I found the switch, hidden under a pop-out panel I'd never paid attention to before. The two tiny rooms glowed a gentle amber color as the ancient back-up LEDs flickered to life.

Crusher... sorry, Margot, was floating there looking utterly defeated, partially in and partially out of her suit. Just, like, crushed. Sorry, it's right there. My heart did a weird flutter thing. Shit, was I actually feeling empathy for this cruel bitch?

"Hey," I said, my voice softer now that I could see her face. She looked up at me, anguish clearly fighting with anger in her expression. "Let's forget it, ok? It doesn't matter. We're here. Let's figure out how to get back to civilization. We're two people right now, let's not be Belters and Daddies, ripping each others' throats out, right?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice weirdly small in the cramped space. I was so used to her being big. "Yeah, we're just people."

"You had a good idea. Let's go check out your ship, see what we've got to work with." She nodded, and we set about it.

What we figured out was this: that ship was a goner. Something had ricocheted around inside the engine compartment ripping everything to shreds. She eventually found the hole in the hull: it was nearly 2 cm across. A micrometeor that size was the worst case scenario for ships like this: big enough to puncture the reinforced plate we all used, but small enough to not quite punch through the other side, so it just bounced around, fucking everything up. A hull breach was bad news, but something we all knew how to deal with. Something that shredded the guts of your engine was a death sentence. No wonder she was in her suit and floating outside. It had ripped her backup systems to shreds, too. That ship was transformed into a floating coffin in a couple milliseconds of chaos. It was lucky that it only put a small hole in the unpressurized section of the ship, so she had a chance to get her suit on and get out.

So, we cut it loose, and she gave it a kick, launching off the Flaming Lips and flipping end-for-end as she floated over to it to deliver a boot-stomp to the perspex, which didn't even have the good grace to crack under the impact.

We spent the next few hours getting the Lips set for the trip. Off went the ore hopper, now empty, but worth a good several tonnes of mass all by itself. Everything else was small potatoes, but overall I'd guess we dropped five tonnes of mass off the Lips, which would make a substantial difference to how long it would take to make it to Charvis. I logged the debris field on the chart. Maybe I could come back and retrive some of it.

I figured out how to get the nav computer back online. Annoyingly, it started up in some weird limited mode, so I had to angle the ship by hand like a neanderthal before I started the little tiny burn that would slowly send us to Charvis Base and eventual safety.

Then, we slept.

It was a couple days later that things felt different. We'd been kind of living in silence, which was really normal for me when I was alone, but pretty strange when there was another person there. We had enough spare power to run the microwave, at least, so we didn't have to like thaw meals between our thighs or something. I was fervently glad I hadn't thrown out all the expired meal packs that had been cluttering the freezer. They were a little gnarly, but they were food, and we had enough for the projected burn to Charvis.

"Crystal," said Cr.. Margot out of the blue. We'd been trading monosyllables up til now.

"Yeah," I responded. It seemed like something was on her mind.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, you're what?" I may have blinked rapidly.

"Sorry."

"What for?" I was honestly kinda puzzled, though I knew what I wanted her to say. I didn't figure she was capable of this kind of thing.

She looked down at the meal pack that she was picking at, and heaved a big sigh. "I'm sorry I left the way I did. It was shitty."

"Uh." I didn't know quite what to say. This woman had smushed me under her heel like dogshit, an event so bad I completely blanked it from my memory. And I suppose she shit on our whole way of living or whatever, but that seemed secondary.

She continued, "I was scared, and it was all too much."

"What was too much?" C'mon you raving looney, say it.

She looked me in the eye. This had not happened since she delivered her drop-kick to the ol' DaddyShip Imperious Majesty the Third, or whatever it was called. "You were too much."

"What do you, uh, what does that mean? That I was too much?" I realized I was whispering.

"I never..." She grimaced before continuing. "I never fell in love before. All those other times. The other people." I swallowed as she continued, "How I felt about you. It was too much, too big, too... too big. I don't know, I'm not good with words. You know."

"Yeah, I know." I was still whispering, and realized that suddenly we were much closer together. Had I moved? Fucking zero G, I had no idea who had moved or how.

She looked up at me again, and suddenly her face was very close indeed. "I loved you, Crystal. I think about it every day." She was whispering too. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, and figured she must be able to hear it too.

"Like, past tense loved? In the past?"

"Yeah, but also..." Her eyes glistened in the dim amber light. "Right now? I..." I had never seen her face look so vulnerable before. Blustery, yes. Belligerent, yes. Drunk, absolutely. Vulnerable? This was new. I always wanted to see it, never expected I would.

I felt a tug at my waist, and suddenly our lips were pressed together. My brain was empty. My world was just her face, pressed to mine, and a creeping heat in my core. A little flutter in my stomach. The pressure as her hands wrapped around me, pulling me closer. She wasn't good with words. This was fine.

You know that kind of semi-fetal position everyone naturally assumes in zero gravity? It sucks for making out with someone, but we figured it out somehow. My hands went around her too, one to her ass, the other to her back to hold us as close together as possible. Our legs tangled together, medium-quality jumpsuit fabric making zhuzhing noises against each other as we grappled. Her hand found my ass too, and we were locked together.

I pulled up for air and looked her in the eyes. "Are we doing this?" She nodded, a little hesitantly, then enthusiastically. A big smile creased her face. Before I could spend more time thinking how much I liked that smile, I pressed my face back against it and kissed her mouth open.

At this point, it became something of a flurry of activity, if you know what I mean. Zippers were tugged, sleeves were awkwardly shrugged out of, feet were kicked trying to rid ourselves of these suddenly very inconvenient fabric monstrosities. She ended up with her hands stuck behind her in a tangle of jumpsuit, and let out an involuntary gasp as I moved down to her throat. Her tits were out, and it was not long before my mouth found them, too, dancing playfully over each nipple in turn. She struggled half-heartedly against the constraint of the jumpsuit sleeves, which seemed to have become quite tangled, but I reached around and stilled her hands, with a wicked smile up at her face.

I disengaged, which provoked a little pout on her face (Crusher could pout!?), and swung around behind her, wrapping my half-undressed body around hers, the sudden slide of her skin against my belly making my scalp prickle as sweat sprung from it. With a moment's work, I carefully made sure her hands couldn't escape their fabric prison, and continued my circle around her other side, kissing around the circumference of her waist as I went. Zero G is actually pretty cool.

"Are you tying me up?" There was a smile in her voice, but I must admit I wasn't looking at her face in that moment. Her strong arms tensed, as if testing the improvised shackles. I concentrated on moving my mouth down her torso, teasing her navel as I passed. The concept of "up" and "down" pretty much went out the proverbial window as I inverted against her, and brought my face to her crotch, which was radiating heat, and glistening with wetness among the curls.

"You cruel cunt," she said, wriggling against the fabric holding her arms together. "Come here," and something complicated happened that involved my head getting crushed between her thighs as I strained my tongue to stay in contact with her wetness, and I felt her fabric-encased hands suddenly pressing against my ass, drawing her face to me. I must admit, I had visions of that watermelon for just a moment. Suddenly, I felt her tongue on my swollen clit, hot and insistent, and it was my turn to squeal. "Cheater!" I giggled as I pulled my head back for just a moment. "Don't stop!" she said as soon as I pulled away.

Both our bodies arched against each other, seeking more complete contact, and there were her thighs again, crushing against my ears and somehow pulling my face in tight to her crotch, threatening to drown me. Using just the power of my tongue to press back (she gasped, and the sudden rush of air against my clit felt sharp), I made room to say, "Let me breathe, you idiot!" She giggled (again, weird feeling, but also pretty awesome) and the pressure eased for a moment. But then my tongue was going at full tilt again, and the crushing became somewhat involuntary-feeling.

Things continued like this for a moment. We had reached something of a balanced state, but it didn't last long. Her tongue suddenly became more insistent against my clit and somehow (don't ask me how) she had worked a hand free, and I felt what must have been a finger sliding inside me and pressing in just the right spot. The rushing in my head got a lot louder, and I felt the pressure building. My tongue responded almost involuntarily, and I tried to work a hand around as well, but the angle was too awkward, and I think all I did was tickle her. She jumped a little bit. Her thighs went crush a little bit when she did, and the watermelon came back to mind. Heedless of whether I was about to have my brains spattered about the cabin, I did it again. She clamped again. Her tongue went harder, and her finger pressed hard against me, and it turned into this back-and-forth cycle as we got more and more intense. I don't know what she was feeling exactly, but I felt like the ocean was filling me up, and I was about to burst.

I think this must have lasted either like a quarter of a second or several days. I couldn't actually tell. I was floating on a bubble of water of exactly the sort you're not supposed to let loose in a cabin because that shit gets everywhere, but which everyone has done at least once. Waves of pressure were ricocheting around inside me. There was a little star burning between my legs, and it was getting bigger fast.

At almost the exact same time as her legs clamped around my head for real this time (holy shit), there was a burst of rainbows and galaxies inside my whole body, and I think I made a bid for her watermelon-crushing crown as I clamped down on her head in return. There was a shriek, and I honestly couldn't tell who it came from, but my legs were shaking and convulsing, my ankles locked together as we bounced off a wall. I extricated my head from the human vise that was her legs, and nearly head-butted her as another wave of holy shit echoed through me, contracting all my muscles at once.

I realized I was gasping for air, as my hands scrabbled to pull her as close to me as I possibly could. Holy fuckballs, I needed to be closer to her. I needed to be inside her. I needed to eat her whole and be the same person all at the same time. I couldn't figure out how to do any of these things, so I just clutched my arms around her waist and pressed my face into her legs and made little "Guh" noises as the aftershocks quaked through me.

We stayed like that for days. I think. Or maybe it was fast? I couldn't really tell, time wasn't so much a concept I understood right then. I was floating on that bubble again, but it wasn't so insistent now. Her body was warm and slick with sweat, and we slid against each other in a way that delighted me on a primal level I didn't understand. I'm not fond of messes or grime (ironical, in a miner, but we must compromise from time to time), but this was fucking awesome.

I felt her voice vibrating against my belly as her grip relaxed a minute amount. "Oh my god," she said, somewhat thickly.

"Yeah," I said. "I think... I think I needed that."

"You needed that? Shit, I needed that. C'mere," and she sort of free-hand rotated me about my belly-button so that we were face to face again. The room spun around us. She wiped some of the slime off my face, more smearing it around than wiping it off, and locked her lips to mine again. She pulled back and smiled at me. Her hair, short though it was, floated free without any centrifugal force or gravity to pull it down. I smiled back, lost in her eyes, and suddenly lost in memories of the last time we were together, back when it was good. My body ached and little quivers still ran up and down my spine.

"Hey," she said, her hand now gently on the side of my face. "Hey," I said back. "You know, I still love you, I think."

"You never said that to me before."

"I know. That was shitty. I'm sorry."

"Um", I said, glancing down to where our boobs were smooshed together, dark skin pressed to light, suddenly aware of my nipples hardening against her. "Apology accepted."

"Good," she said, her hands dropping to my butt and pulling me tight against her. "Now, this time, if you're gonna tie me up, do it right."

"Only if you promise to tie me up next." I liked the light I saw in her eyes. My clit ached where her tongue had so recently been.

"Deal." And we both scrambled for something, anything, that would work, to see who could trap the other first.