Marginal Life Ch. 02

Greetings, welcome to Chapter Two of Marginal Life.

This chapter picks up right where the first leaves off. If you haven't read chapter one, I suggest you go do so first. No, seriously, what are you still doing here, this won't make any sense otherwise.

To the rest of you, to everyone that read and/or rated chapter one, and is now back for more. Thanks for the support, it made my day to see that little red H next to the story, even if it was only for an afternoon.

For those looking for more worldbuilding, I ask for patience. Chapter three will go in depth on how magic works.

As before, comments are welcome. I really would like to know what you find lacking, or want to see more of.

I hope you continue to enjoy reading the story, I'm certainly learning a lot writing it.

-Mach Ex Anima, August 2016

*******************

We're under attack. Marge's bridge is in chaos. Alarms scream for Stefan's attention. The chainsaw on lookout warns of incoming from off the bow. The wood chipper at tactical yells of an assault from below. The cat at security yowls of intruders. At my own station, I... What?

It's too strange, even for me. The dream breaks. With a muffled groan I pry open eyes heavy with too much sleep. Less than a foot above me, Stefan's snoring drones away. Its strength so incredible, I'm surprised it didn't wake me sooner. That I so easily incorporated it into my now fading dream. Under the racket I giggle. There's a reason Marian and I sleep in our own quarters.

Drifting, half awake, I contemplating moving. The wall clock proclaims we've been asleep for over ten hours. Me I understand, I needed the time to recover. His exhaustion is more worrying. Does my episode lie at its root, or something else? Unsure which is worse. Too much thought for first thing in the morning.

Sometime during the night I had rolled off to his side, snuggling in tightly. The contact feels amazing. Like a living pillow, radiating warmth and comfort. Protection from any external threat. Despite the racket. Licking my lips, I grimace. Perhaps something to silence the noise is in order. Revenge for waking me, but also appreciation for last night. And to replace the dry, gritty taste of sleep with a better flavour. Stretching slightly to loosen my muscles, I reach for his morning stiffness. Already savouring the upcoming banquet, I-

Eww.

Hand suddenly sticky, instantly wide awake, I flinch back from the contact. Memory surfaces, of passing out as we finished. Hyper aware of my own messy state, all plans are destroyed by one all consuming thought: Shower. NOW.

No time for stealth. Sliding away and off the bed, I shiver at the loss of his heat. Padding into the bathroom, his snoring continues unchanged. Guess I'm showering alone. Triggering the spray, I start to scrub vigorously. It's time to take stock.

Past the stickiness, I feel good. Really, really good. Rarely do I wake still ready for company. Risking my calm, I try directness. I had sex. Really, really great sex. I enjoyed myself, our time together. Three times even. So far so good. Unusually, I enjoyed his attentions to my core. My... my... pussy. Barely a hesitation. Huh. My first thoughts this morning were for more. Definitely rare. Almost unheard of.

Cautiously, I visualize my mental pool. Is there something that reflects my continued calm? Something different? While the pool's level is far from recovered, the underlying stone feels denser, more permanent. The faint hint of carvings adorn the stone, some long branching motif. Roots maybe? Or some kind of vine? The water ripples. A strange light catches my attention, a candle floating in the center of the pool.

My calm trembles. Fire means an episode. No. It's too soon. They're never this close together. Panic closes in, digging at my calm. Frantically I try to start my routine. Try to breathe. Come up with a project to work on. Keep the focus in check. Breathe! Can't let myself wander. Not the harness. Lasse wants better cold storage, maybe that? Breathe damnit! Is Fate trying to destroy me? Maybe I can-

Arms circle me from behind. I shriek, my mental pool surging in a sudden explosion of fright. Adrenaline pounding, I instinctively shove back, slamming my attacker against the shower wall. Or at least try to. Outweighing me by quite a bit and steady while I am off balance, Stefan merely sways. Peering over my shoulder, worry evident on his face.

"Jaya? You okay? You left the door open. Did you not want company?"

A mental glance, the candle is gone. Vanished as if it never existed. The pool stills, waves settling. His presence distracting me, dissipating the panic. His words register. Had I left the door open? I had. On purpose? Seems so. Had I wanted company? Yes. Do I still? Yes. Yes I do.

Weak from sudden relief, the rush of adrenaline passing as fast as it came on, I sag against him. Laughing quietly, hysteria lending it a jagged edge. His tense muscles a clue that he is ready to surrender the shower, leaving me to myself. To ride out yet another of my "moods." All it will take is the right - or wrong - word.

"No... no, wait." A deep breath. "I did." Stronger. "I do. I was just... thinking."

He's not convinced. Many a morning have I vanished, both quietly and... not. Very rarely staying this long. Today, I want him to stay. Need him to. A plan takes shape. I slap my washcloth to his chest as the first step.

"Wash. Don't think I'm done with you. I need you nice and clean." Time to switch tracks. "You still have that jerky from Golddale?"

"Yes?" Though I can tell the question has thrown him, he instinctively answers what was to be my next query. "It's in the left chest, to the back."

Smiling to myself, I hop from the shopper. Almost skipping as I head towards his quarters. Not that I would ever do such a thing.

As ever, his cabin is orderly. Clean. Almost too clean. A small bed, two storage chests, and a desk the only furniture. A light carpet softens the bite of an otherwise cold metal floor. Very few personal effects, Stefan isn't one for souvenirs. A small framed photograph hanging centrally above the bed clearly the focus. The expensively produced monochrome depicting Marian and I standing to either side of Stefan. Taken just after Marian finished her Doctorate, when she joined us on Marge. That puts it just over eight years ago. In it we're smiling, a happy Bond reunited.

Focus. Keep on target. Remember the plan. I find the food quickly, exactly where he said it would be. The leather pouch is still sealed, a layer of wax over a simple drawstring. Gold leaf proclaims it the best assortment of game to ever breathe smoke. Perfect. Dripping a reasonable amount of water on his carpet, I head back.

When I return, he's washing at a leisurely pace, face an impassive mask. He missed my excitement, or thought it a ruse. He thinks I bolted. As excuses go, it would have been a good one. The mask muting the pain I caused him, or at least trying to. Even knowing me as well as he does, he still blames himself when I run off.

Time to stop that right now, thank you.

"I told you, I have plans. Breakfast first."

My voice is light, teasing. Startling him, surprise banishing his mask. Washing more quickly now, a smile tugging at the edges.

"My mistake. I'll be clean in a moment, oh breakfast planner."

Much better. Grinning, I grab his razor from the sink cabinet. A slice easily breaking the wax seal. A simple tug, and I'm in. The rich aroma of wood smoke and spices fills the already steamy air, drawing a grumble from both our stomachs. Probably shouldn't have missed dinner. Fishing out a piece of something dark, I begin to snack.

"Mmm. Their reputation is well deserved." Another piece, something light this time. "This is incredible."

"I wouldn't know."

Smirking, I chew, openly taunting. Watching his eyes light up, I know we're good to go. I Dodge a sudden playful swipe, the small room offering little in the way of escape. Time to advance the plan. I twist, pretending to slip. His quick reflexes easily catch me, pulling me against his chest to prevent a fall. A carefully orchestrated swing of my arm keeps the pouch from a soaking. Or at least tries to.

A breathy giggle, instantly muffled as I slap my free hand to my mouth. Please Luck, let him not have heard that. I feel him shift behind me, his grip feathering. Uh oh.

Barely an instant to brace before I'm giggling hysterically, his tickling merciless in its execution. Decades of experience have left him with far too too much knowledge of my weak points.

"No no no he he he he..." Squirming frantically under his touch.

"Mercy... Mercy..." Breathless.

"Please..." No sign of stopping.

"I give... I give... " Waving the pouch.

Relief.

Triumphant, he snags the pouch from my loosened grip. I sag to the floor, exhausted from my ordeal, still giggling breathlessly. I vow revenge while trying to breath. A couple minutes and several anatomically unwieldy curses later, I feel a tap to my head. Drawing my gaze upward, tracing it up along his wet form, I tilt my head in a question.

"Peace?"

Offering a chunk of meat, chewing one of his own. I pretend to consider, then tilt my head back, allowing him to feed me. Hmm. A little slimy, the pouch definitely suffered from the spray. Still tasty though.

Holding up my hands, he easily uses one arm to pull me to my feet. I perch on a small side shelf, normally intended to store soaps and such. As small as I am, it easily works as a chair. With him continuing to hand feed me, we split the rest of the pouch. Chatting of nothing important, enjoying the food. As breakfasts go, it's not bad.

Recovered from my second bout with hysteria (the second happily overwriting the first), hunger banished, the still warm shower cascading over me, Stefan's presence solid and nurturing, I feel... content. From my tiny seat, life feels manageable. Easy. Right. Happy.

The feeling passes. Not from shattered calm or external events, but in the face of sudden ravenous hunger. Heat blooming, I Need. The plan must continue. Sporting a predatory grin, I lunge from the shelf, grabbing for his thighs. Pushing to indicate where I want him. Curious, he bends, swapping positions with me in a narrow little dance. Just managing to sit on the small shelf I vacated. I kneel, pushing open his legs and settling them to either side of me. Now at the perfect height for my goal.

I hear him mutter under his breath. It sounds like he's planning a duty roster. Quite a distracting topic. My grin grows: he knows me well. Moving in, I lick my lips. This is it. What I've craved since wakening. I draw him fully into my mouth. His cock still fully soft, his control impressive. I savor the texture. Soft, rubbery, pliant. With one hand I cup his sack, lightly brushing at the fragile orbs within. Shocked silent, his arousal surges with impressive force, plowing through to my throat as he lengthens. I relax, gulping at him as he hardens. Now solid, unyielding. I marvel at the transition. At the rarity of experiencing the full change. At the huge differences.

His unique flavour quickly overtakes the clean non-taste of the shower. Cinnamon, peat, and brine mix with the lingering aroma of our breakfast. A heady combination. Slightly lightheaded, I bobble back and forth. His sudden groan incentive to focus, to really work.

Move back, suck on the head, tongue sliding over the tip. Stroke the shaft. Move in, take as much as I can, draw him towards my throat. My tongue ever moving, tickling the underside. Over and over again, a steady rhythm. The water cascading down, a warm rain. Stefan's eyes closed, rapture evident. My other hand busy, eagerly stroking... myself? Subconsciously circling my core, teasing forth the heat building within.

Unintentional, but surprisingly not unwelcome. Pressure building, urgency building. Driving us both ever onward to my goal. To break his control. To have him unmade before me. To reap my reward.

I attack with every trick I've learned, years of studying his tells. A lick here, a subtle twist of the skin there. The slightest extra pressure from my lips, carefully avoiding teeth. Dragging forth his pleasure, whether he like it or not.

He does. A sudden touch, hands light on my hair. A tightening of his sack. A slight swelling of his shaft. Signs warning of his climax. I pull back, positioning him just above my tongue, desperately working his shaft.

He explodes. Strongly. Once. Twice. A third time. More softly after that. Coating my tongue, the flavor intense. Uniquely Him, but more. Consumed by it, by him, I shudder through a peak of my own, two fingers stroking deep, curling upwards. Thumb circling near my button. Somehow still making that damn breathy squeak even with my mouth full.

"Yesss..." A hiss from above. "My Jaya..." Barely audible through the shower.

Gathering everything he's given me, I lean back, eyes closed, savoring the experience. His pleasure. His desire. His seed. His flavour. The waves of my orgasm a counterpoint, adding to the euphoria. Holding the moment as long as I can. Swallowing, a part of him mine forever.

Time passes, drifting. Thoughts empty. Just existing. Tranquil. Immovable. Lifted by strong hands, brought from the floor to a broad chest. His green eyes peer into mine. His glow of satisfaction mirroring my own.

"That was great."

A statement. His I think? Maybe my own. One echoing the other.

"Do you want to stay longer?"

I tilt my head, puzzled. Do I? Drifting, the question has no meaning. Content, I let him interpret my non-answer as he will.

***

The vigorous rubbing of a plush towel rouses me. How long was I out? At some point he moved us back to the bedroom, and is currently drying both of us. Snagging one end of his large towel, I help as best I can.

"Back with us? You were kind of out of it."

"I... It was just so... Intense."

Not sure how to describe it.

"I've never just drifted like that. Everything came untethered, like I was flying. I..." Frowning now in concentration.

A tap on my forehead disrupts my chain of thought.

"Hey. Don't. As long as you enjoyed it. I loved it. Loved being with you. Love having you here." A slight pause, just long enough to trap my gaze with his own. "Love you."

I can't help the goofy grin. Can't help throwing myself at him, wrapping myself about him, breathing him in deepy. Whispering quietly, with all the conviction of my being.

"I love you too."

***

The time later than we thought, Stefan soon has to run, back to his own cabin and then on to duty. Shifts for Named crew are often more hectic in port than while in transit, a thousand and one administrative details demanding attention. Most of them Right Now, if not sooner. Not that my job is any easier. Less paperwork, more grease.

Eyeballing the jumpsuit left from yesterday, I feel my lip curl just a bit in disgust. Something from the chest instead. A quick search coughs up a pair of shorts and a loose blouse, a pink number with lace sleeves. It belongs to Marian, I'm almost swimming in it. The fabric is light, airy, and so very soft.

Time to go. Mess hall, signal room, then to quarters for my work gear. Turning, I catch a look at the tall mirror. A cute girl stares back. Relaxed, confident, ready for a day on the town.

Is that really me? I look... really good. Normal. Cute. That can't be me.

That's not me.

No. No. Focus. It's just a reflection. Just an image. Don't do this.

I look like a kid into his mother's clothes, playing dress up.

No! Can't I have this? Just for today?

I look absurd.

Ripping at the shirt, tearing the fabric in frantic haste to be rid of it.

I should have known better. Why do I even try? I'm such an idiot.

I need to get out of here, out of this room.

Pulling on the discarded jumpsuit, still barefoot, tears flowing, I flee.

***

Deep breath in. Let it out. Repeat. Focus on the action. Visualize the pool. Feel its calm. Center on it, feel the strength of the stone as my own.

I sit cross legged on my bunk. Doc's routine calming, stabilizing. She calls it meditation. I call it a way to get on with my life. It takes me half an hour before I feel somewhat centered, ready to work. Hopeful that things might stay neutral for awhile now.

Was the visit too soon after the episode? How much do I risk riding the extremes like this? No way to know. Can't let it weigh me down. Think later. Visit the Doc if I can. Work now.

Having made my decision, I move. Fresh jumpsuit. Tool vest over that. The icon of a golden wrench beside three vertical silver bars at the collar, indication of my rank. Heavy steel-toed boots. Leather gloves tucked through my belt, next to loops for larger tools. The "official" uniform for a Mechanic.

Suitably armored, I feel like myself. Finally. No more ups and downs. Just me and my tools. And whatever misbehaving mechanica draws my wrath. Stomping, boots suitably loud on the metal decking, I head out.

Turning to head next door, a small stack of paper draws my attention, overflowing my small message box. Tacked to the wall just outside of each crew's quarters, they're not intended to hold so much at once. Being out for a week is a great way to get behind on official paperwork. Better take a moment, sort it all out.

Shipping manifest, shipping manifest, receipt for repair, etc. Most of it is routine junk, notifications for things I already know, or don't need to. Or that Teresa does, not having spent a week asleep. Two letters stand out. And they're big ones.

The first, a stuffy sounding letter from the Academy, well wishes for my recovery, blah blah blah. The important part buried in the middle: my class has been rescheduled for the day after tomorrow. A bureaucratic miracle.

The second much more immediately important, a simple slip of paper with a short couple of sentences:

"Jaya. See me as soon as you read this. My entire day is clear. Nadia."

Very strange. Did Luck roll in my favor? Is her mother Fate messing with me yet again? How did the Doc have so much free time, and so fast? Was it Marian? Probably.

Pondering, I finish my trek next door, to my own small absolute domain: the mechanica shop. A place where I can work in peace and quiet, away from any considerations such as-

WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM.

My thoughts, running as they were, slam headlong into a wall of sound, Teresa hammering a stubborn metal bracket into shape. The hammering wins. Snickering, I move to see what my assistant is working on. Two of the four main workbenches have their tops covered with various parts, carefully organized. One set appears to be hydraulics for a large door, probably a cargo hatch. On the other, the... huh. The lift spreaders for a skiff? What?

"Get! Into! Position! You! Annoying! FUCK!" Punctuating each word with a smack.

Ah, the battle cry of mechanics everywhere. Satisfied, stepping back to check the angles, she finally notices my amused presence, jumping with an "eep." Somehow managing to not look completely embarrassed. A trick I wish I could pull off when in the same circumstances.

"Jaya! I wasn't expecting you. Captain messaged you were on leave today."

Secretly pleased, I wave away mention of Stefan, more interested in the work.

"I am. Needed to hammer something out. Not as literally as you. What is all this anyway?"

"That, " pointing to one bench, "is the stern cargo ramp's lower port hydraulic assembly. And that," swapping to the other, "is the effector from our largest cargo loader. One of Sinem's flunkies managed to slam one into the other first thing this morning."

Her irritation is nearly a physical presence. I can feel mine wanting to hop out and join it. Sinem is our Cargomaster, the warrant officer in charge of our holds. Heavy Salamander Marker, which grants her increased physical abilities and a patterning of reddish scales across her face and neck that I think are very cute. Not that I'll ever admit it. Her main job and largest headache the constant babysitting of the deck crew, those barely trained nameless that sign on for a tour or two. Their main job the organization and movement of our cargo.