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rainbowfic2024-03-24 01:50 pm
ilthit) wrote in rainbowfic2024-03-24 01:50 pm
Chocolate-Dipped Strawberry #10, Newsprint #5, Psychedelic Purple #30: Gyrations (Uncategorized)
Name: Gyrations
Story: Ilthit's Uncategorized
Colors: Chocolate-Dipped Strawberry #10 (undress), Newsprint #5 (Slipping into madness is good for the sake of comparison.), Psychedelic Purple #30 (there will be an answer: let it be)
Supplies and Styles: chiaroscuro; pastels (ladiesbingo: Fundamental Particles), resin (Multiamory March: Night), yarn (Looking Back at an Eclipsed Earth, by Mir 27 Crew)
Word Count: 645
Rating: mature-to-explicit
Warnings: spooky space stuff
Summary: An astronaut describes going through the dark of the earth on her tethered extra-orbital space station with her to fellow astronauts, who she is sleeping with. May have some intentional mythological inspiration.
We have turned off the lights to preserve power. Outside it is not dark at all, but a sea of pinprick lights across an endless black canvas. The Earth hangs below, aside, above us, its weight anchoring us through the supply cord hooking us together.
We are now on the dark side of the Earth, the last sliver of light on it disappearing fast. Once it returns, we will power up again, harvesting the solar rays as they become available, and starting up our work.
It's quiet like this. There's no rattling of supplies being sent up or samples being sent down, only the background hum of what engines must be kept running to keep us alive. Inside all shapes disappear into a single shade of black. I am staring through the window, watching as the night swallows up the gleaming metal lifeline of the cord.
If it broke apart in the night, perhaps from some space junk hitting it hard enough in the right place, we would not know until it was too late; I think of this every time I watch the cord disappear.
"Come on, baby," Elina says, and tugs on my arm. "You know we can't see a damn thing like this. Come to bed."
I follow her, the warm and animal thing she is, giving up my safety to the night's keeping.
I've given up control of my feet and my hands, as well, as the artificial gravity was switched off. We feel our way, bumping into walls and handholds, through the narrow corridors, following glow-in-the-dark signs until we find our bunk. It was Elina's bunk at first, but Netta and I have been sharing it for months.
Turns out, when it is pure pitch dark inside, and outside a swallowing nothing that wants you dead, you don't feel like sleeping alone.
"Come here, El," says Netta, pulling at my arm."
Giggles behind me. "I'm Iman," I say, as El says, "She's Iman."
"Come here, Iman."
Netta's hands and feet are always cold. I kick out of my overalls and entwine myself with her, rubbing my feet on hers.
"Mmm," Netta entones, grateful. "Sex?"
"Sex," says Elina, already wrapping herself with me, and we close the curtains.
I can't tell you what it's like, making love in total darkness with the only two people in the world who are still real to you. After a while, when Netta's hands warm up, I no longer know which of them is touching me.
The cleaning bots will roll through the cabins in the morning, and we too wipe and clean and maintain and clean again all through the day. It wouldn't have to happen if the station didn't have us in it. We are organic mess staining an otherwise perfectly fine piece of machinery.
I breathe hard and hiccuping, saliva on my nipple, nail-scratches on my back, cunt-juice on my fingers, I love them, here, where I can forget where one of us ends and the other begins, and there is still warmth, there is still skin, there is still life.
El will complain about her glasses in the morning; they get smudgy and scratched and there's no way to get an optometrist up here. Netta will nap until midday if I don't kick her up. We'll all need a shower, and remember fondly when showers were things of pleasure instead of a quick spritzing with cold and stinging soap-laced water, and then a rough rub-down with towels. And we'll get back to work, and when I look out the window, I will see all the way down the length of the cord, and see no anomalies in its perfect gleaming shell.
But here, now, in the darkness? Here I am untethered and drifting, and can't know if I will ever see light again.
I let go even of the intention to.
Story: Ilthit's Uncategorized
Colors: Chocolate-Dipped Strawberry #10 (undress), Newsprint #5 (Slipping into madness is good for the sake of comparison.), Psychedelic Purple #30 (there will be an answer: let it be)
Supplies and Styles: chiaroscuro; pastels (ladiesbingo: Fundamental Particles), resin (Multiamory March: Night), yarn (Looking Back at an Eclipsed Earth, by Mir 27 Crew)
Word Count: 645
Rating: mature-to-explicit
Warnings: spooky space stuff
Summary: An astronaut describes going through the dark of the earth on her tethered extra-orbital space station with her to fellow astronauts, who she is sleeping with. May have some intentional mythological inspiration.
We have turned off the lights to preserve power. Outside it is not dark at all, but a sea of pinprick lights across an endless black canvas. The Earth hangs below, aside, above us, its weight anchoring us through the supply cord hooking us together.
We are now on the dark side of the Earth, the last sliver of light on it disappearing fast. Once it returns, we will power up again, harvesting the solar rays as they become available, and starting up our work.
It's quiet like this. There's no rattling of supplies being sent up or samples being sent down, only the background hum of what engines must be kept running to keep us alive. Inside all shapes disappear into a single shade of black. I am staring through the window, watching as the night swallows up the gleaming metal lifeline of the cord.
If it broke apart in the night, perhaps from some space junk hitting it hard enough in the right place, we would not know until it was too late; I think of this every time I watch the cord disappear.
"Come on, baby," Elina says, and tugs on my arm. "You know we can't see a damn thing like this. Come to bed."
I follow her, the warm and animal thing she is, giving up my safety to the night's keeping.
I've given up control of my feet and my hands, as well, as the artificial gravity was switched off. We feel our way, bumping into walls and handholds, through the narrow corridors, following glow-in-the-dark signs until we find our bunk. It was Elina's bunk at first, but Netta and I have been sharing it for months.
Turns out, when it is pure pitch dark inside, and outside a swallowing nothing that wants you dead, you don't feel like sleeping alone.
"Come here, El," says Netta, pulling at my arm."
Giggles behind me. "I'm Iman," I say, as El says, "She's Iman."
"Come here, Iman."
Netta's hands and feet are always cold. I kick out of my overalls and entwine myself with her, rubbing my feet on hers.
"Mmm," Netta entones, grateful. "Sex?"
"Sex," says Elina, already wrapping herself with me, and we close the curtains.
I can't tell you what it's like, making love in total darkness with the only two people in the world who are still real to you. After a while, when Netta's hands warm up, I no longer know which of them is touching me.
The cleaning bots will roll through the cabins in the morning, and we too wipe and clean and maintain and clean again all through the day. It wouldn't have to happen if the station didn't have us in it. We are organic mess staining an otherwise perfectly fine piece of machinery.
I breathe hard and hiccuping, saliva on my nipple, nail-scratches on my back, cunt-juice on my fingers, I love them, here, where I can forget where one of us ends and the other begins, and there is still warmth, there is still skin, there is still life.
El will complain about her glasses in the morning; they get smudgy and scratched and there's no way to get an optometrist up here. Netta will nap until midday if I don't kick her up. We'll all need a shower, and remember fondly when showers were things of pleasure instead of a quick spritzing with cold and stinging soap-laced water, and then a rough rub-down with towels. And we'll get back to work, and when I look out the window, I will see all the way down the length of the cord, and see no anomalies in its perfect gleaming shell.
But here, now, in the darkness? Here I am untethered and drifting, and can't know if I will ever see light again.
I let go even of the intention to.