Ghosts in the System

[WretchRoad]

Relief didn’t last long. The attitude stayed.

“Says the man carrying a metric fuckload of contraband,” she countered, meanwhile still trying to angle her way out of the trap she sprung on herself. Survival didn’t mean much now that she was stuck on a ship with a criminal going somewhere he conveniently didn’t mention. That meant she had no idea where they were.

The best lies always started with a truth.

“I used to work for the IGA,” she began, quickly adding “Low level, in coms and navigation. I went through basic training with everyone else. Now you’re wondering why I do this now? Because four years ago I got stuck in Gleize Gamma, and if you haven’t heard of it, it’s because it’s way the hell out in the void, nowhere. It had one jump gate — ‘Had.’” She put emphasis on the word like it told the whole story.

“Now are you going to tell me why you showed up to a controlled port with stolen goods and got me stuck in this mess?”

 

[The_gladiator]

“Because they weren’t supposed to find them. I was told they were shielded. Bob assured me they were protected. Would show up as some kind of vitamins. Obviously I was lied to.”


He did not know if he believed her story. He had heard of that jump gate.


“I heard the IGA blew it to stop dissidents. One of their nastier tricks. That why you got out? Finally saw them for the pieces of ass they are?”


He watched her. Completely comfortable with the entirety of her legs exposed. Barefoot. Staring him down when they both knew he was the one with the gun.


“You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.”

 

[WretchRoad]

“I got out because I lost three years waiting for, and being rescued. I didn’t want to be trapped like that again. Kinda like right now.” That was the lie, half of one.

The worst thing she could do around a predator was look like prey.

Her dress was dusted and knees and elbows still carried grease stains from the engine room, but she might as well have been in an armoured suit for the confidence she exuded.

“Guts for what? Going out to a gala with a supposedly law-abiding shipper?” Acting like her innocence was still on the table, she rolled her eyes.

“And what about the balls on you? You’re going to get caught, your ship is probably being flagged across all sectors, your face won’t pass security anywhere. Honestly? Your last, only hope, is turning yourself in and giving up your friends.” The faster he did that, the faster she could reach out to her contacts for an extraction.

“Why would you throw your life away over medicine anyway? There can’t be much money in it.”

 

[The_gladiator]

“Why would I do it? Because that’s what I do. Why was I willing to go there? Because Gunther told me to. Why this run specifically? Because my brother is a son of a cunt and I wanted to fuck up his day.”


That last line was too much. He heard it as soon as it left his mouth.


“There was very minimal risk. I didn’t think there’d be a firefight. Or that the crates weren’t shielded.”


He rose.


“Speaking of which, I better go check on that. First door to your right takes you into the ring corridor. That’ll lead you to the fresher. You can shower if you like. I have some of Starla’s things in the closet still, I think. You’re about her size. Since that dress got dirty in the whole situation.”

 

[WretchRoad]

For the first time since meeting him, she was stunned into silence.

His brother?

She had more to say, but not without rehashing the same topics. With nowhere to go but down, she might as well get ready for the ride. An evening gown wasn’t going to cut it.

With a curt “Fine,” she turned toward the door and into the corridor, finding the shower with little delay. Her things made an expensive pile on the floor, along with the toxin-laden bracelet, while she stepped into the flow of water.

As it ran over her skin in fine rivulets, she tried not to let her mind reel from the disaster of her mission. If anything, she convinced herself she was on track. Becker was a known fugitive now, all she had to do to clear her name was find the right people, and she had enough evidence to justify an investigation into at least one of his accomplices.

Then it hit her: She killed an IGA pilot. She destroyed an IGA ship.

Self-defense wasn’t assured when she was a low level agent —she only got the job because the IGA liked to make friends of malcontents before they could become enemies.

“Fuck!” she yelled, fist banging against the aluminum panel.

After only a few minutes trapped in an even smaller box, she couldn’t stand still anymore, and toweled off.

Luckily, Starla’s things included the drab and practical as well as the luxurious. That didn’t stop her from feeling like an emotional landmine when she put them on, since there was no way not to remind Becker of an ex he clearly wasn’t over.

Danica lurked back into the cockpit in a tight-fitting shirt under a light jacket, and trousers laden with handy pockets. She took note of familiar controls and symbols, then attempted to find the coms. She had to at least try to get the word out.

 

[The_gladiator]

Becker went to the hold.


He thumbed the hatch and stepped in. Mostly empty. The crates sat under netting that was supposed to keep them shielded.


He swore softly. Someone hadn’t turned the net on. He was a fugitive over a small mistake.


Absently he flipped it on. He could have sworn he’d checked it. Obviously he hadn’t. He glared at the thing.


He made his own way to the fresher. She was already out. Showering after her made him fantasize about her being there moments before. He let it go.


From his side of the closet he pulled on a flight suit. G and B logo on it. The same thing she would have seen at the pilot’s club, where other men wore extravagant clothes to impress Gunther and Becker was rarely out of uniform.


He emerged into the cockpit.


She was already settling into his seat, looking over the controls.


“Whatcha doing in my seat?” Suspicious. Then, trying to soften the snap: “I’m the pilot here.”

 

[WretchRoad]

Her shoulders went tight. He was lighter on his feet than she anticipated.

Whatever happened next, they had to stay together, and she had to survive it. Going back empty handed just meant she'd take the blame and a spot in a cell reserved for him.

"Didn't you say your nav system was giving you problems?" she found the explanation easily, he handed it to her not long ago. "Not like I can find anything with this layout, it's all proprietary."

But she sensed his frustration, and stepped out of the chair, gesturing graciously back toward his seat. "By all means."

She idly felt her wrist as she gave him space, feeling a moment of weightlessness when she found it bare. The bracelet was still in the pile with her clothes.

 

[The_gladiator]

“Well, yeah. I had to say something other than this is the escort Gunther hired so I could get the schedule for the drop. I don’t have a problem with my navigation. As you can see, I designed it myself.”


The smile was confident. Almost overly so.


“And as you may have noticed, I can navigate better than most in the IGA, restricted to their old jump gates. The real entrepreneur moves independently.”


A beat.


“That being said, we’re fugitives because someone didn’t turn on the camo net over the crates. I swore I checked them.”


He did not say sabotage. It hung there anyway.


Not her. He had known where she was the whole time, and flying in, Gunther had sent her on one of the G and B shuttles. Small boats. Fresh pilots to freighters. Crew off for R and R.


He turned enough to look at what she had put on.


“They look good on you. That dress was hella flattering. Not the most practical for regular space travel.”


Another beat. Half smirk now.


“We’ve got a week to kill before the drop is scheduled. Looks like you might actually have time to follow through on all those innuendos. Assuming they weren’t empty insinuations.”

 

[WretchRoad]

It was worth a try, thankfully he didn't follow that thread of suspicion too far, not in the face of what sounded like real, back-stabbing sabotage.

A week. That meant time to either turn him or turn him in, but it was becoming apparent that learning the ship meant learning Becker — A locked box who just happened to be offering her a key.

Danica smoothed her hands, almost absently, down the sides of her trousers, over her hips.

"Yeah, well, you looked better in a suit." She didn't take a step forward, that would be too eager, too fast for what could be a trap, or a test. "And as far as I'm concerned, I'm off the clock."

She looked him up and down, slow.

"Doesn't mean everything I said was empty."

 

[The_gladiator]

“Fair enough. Uniforms are rarely sexy. Unless they’re certain military ones, I suppose.”


He leaned back in the seat. Everything about the posture was meant to look relaxed and at ease.


It was.


It also wasn’t.


“Off the clock. You offer a discount for down-on-their-luck shippers, or you’d just rather enjoy yourself?”


A beat.


“So then, Danica. What part of your innuendos were genuine?”


His eyes tracked the hands on her hips, then came back up.


“You looked better in the dress. Though you’d probably look even better naked. Not sure I even remember what to do with a woman like you. It’s been a while.”

 

[WretchRoad]

“The dance,” she responded quickly. “That was real.”

She stepped into the space between his knees and leaned forward, testing his boundaries. The curls were washed out from the shower, leaving her dark hair with a slight wave, her skin smelling of his soap.

“You’ll remember,” with one hand on the armrest, she came in close, murmuring into his collar, “when I’m raking lines down your back.”

Hazel eyes snapped up to meet his. “I always enjoy myself.”

 

[The_gladiator]

She was bold.


He could match that.


The fake ease dropped. Arms came down from behind his head and found her instead—one hand pressing along her spine, the other sliding up the arm she had braced on his chair—and he pulled her in the rest of the way.


The kiss was hard and fast. No warning. No words.


Words had no place here.


This was about calling her bluff.


In that moment he didn’t know if she had won the round or if he had. The adrenaline of the near escape was still in him. He channeled it into her.

 

[WretchRoad]

She grabbed his arm, fingers digging in — not to fight him, but to meet him. If it was a game, she wouldn't be the first to steer away.

"Impatient..." she whispered against his lips, "and a little rough, I approve."

In one fluid motion, she brought her knees up to either side of his hips, but she didn't lean in just yet.

With eyes half-lidded she asked "We doing this right here?" as though it weren't a question of what they would do, but where.

 

[The_gladiator]

“I’m open. Bunk would allow for more exploration. More pleasure. Right here would add that authentic raw feeling. So I guess it depends.”


And just like that he had turned it into an equation. A problem to be solved. The moment cracked.


He actually laughed at himself.


He made an effort to recover. After all, he had a woman almost in his lap.


His hand slid down, under her shirt, and glided up her spine. Bare skin this time.


“So which do you want, Danica. For me to explore you. Or just let you take me right here.”

 

[WretchRoad]

Her back arched under his touch, under the heat of his hand. Her cheeks flushed pink.

"Here," she quickly decided, never having ridden a captain in his own chair before. "Just this, just here, just right now." The mystery that was him could be unraveled after they were finished unraveling.

She melted back into a kiss, slower now, and erased the space between their bodies. Sliding both her hands up, she tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him steady as she slipped her tongue between his lips to taste him.

 

[The_gladiator]

The second kiss was less hurried.


He was more than willing. He knew he should be on guard. It had been so long.


He opened for her. Let her tongue in. Met it with his own.


Fingertips dug into her spine. The other hand slid up her side and framed the curve of her full breast, already pressed to his chest as she erased the gap.


He had been dying to feel that all night. They had come so close on the floor.


A low sound of approval caught in his throat.

 

[WretchRoad]

Previously unbidden thoughts came back. A soft moan as he touched her chest, and she broke the kiss.

Her breaths came low and hurried. She shed the jacket then the shirt, tossing both on the floor behind her.

"Unhook my bra," she asked, or rather ordered. At the same time she pushed back his uniform jacket from over his shoulders, eager to see the rest of those tattoos and feel the muscle beneath.

 

[The_gladiator]

There was a trick to the kind of bra Starla had always worn. It adjusted to the size of a woman’s breasts and frame. Useful for the films, when implants came in and she didn’t want a second wardrobe. Tricky, if you didn’t know it.


Lucky for him, he had practice.


His hands found the right pinch. The material loosened. He didn’t fumble.


He slid both hands out over her back, taking the bra with them, until they were naturally cupping her breasts, freeing them from the cups.


“They’re so soft,” he whispered.


Hopefully more honest than lame. The awe was genuine. In that moment he wasn’t sure he cared which.

 

[WretchRoad]

Her breasts rose and fell with her breath as she watched him, felt him, and let the bra join the pile on the floor.

She was amused with his response, but didn't laugh.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" but she already knew that. She stopped trying to undress him to let him linger, relishing the way he touched her.

 

[The_gladiator]

“Yes.”


One word. Emphatic enough to say the rest: how long, how much he wanted her, how good this felt.


His thumbs traced until they found the peaks of her nipples. Strong fingers rolled them. Careful. Nothing rough in the way he worshiped them this first time—until he pinched, just enough edge of pain to test her limits. Her interest.


He leaned down.


He did not bury his face between them the way he wanted.


He flicked his tongue over one hard nipple instead. Took his time. Teased.

 

[WretchRoad]

She stopped racing for the finish line. It wasn't what he wanted, and as soon as his tongue touched her, she knew it wasn't what she wanted either. Again, she wove her fingers into his hair, gripping softly.

Craving this, she knew, would erase the line between work and pleasure. And god how he made her crave it.

The pinch made her gasp, letting out an insolent sound.

Becker played a dangerous game when he teased her.

Still trading blow for blow as they did on the dancefloor, she waited until his full attention was on her chest until she rolled her hips into him, immitating the act.

 

[The_gladiator]

The sounds pleased him.


He smiled around her nipple as he slowly drew it into the heat of his mouth. There was a time to rush. The first time he got to touch her like this was not it.


His tongue explored. The edge of his teeth set into the nipple and kept the tease.


His free hand dug into her back as she rolled her hips in his lap, hinting at what it could be like without clothes.


She pulled another low groan of need out of him.

 

[WretchRoad]

The way he worked her nipple made her eyelids flutter. She didn't want to close her eyes, though, enjoying the image of him worshipping at her breasts, the way he sent sensations straight down.

It was not like Gunther. It wasn't like many of the men she'd been with.

The next time she rolled her hips, it was for her. She needed friction, seeking the hard ridge of him as warmth spread between her thighs.

 

[The_gladiator]

He bit harder.


His eyes rolled up to meet hers, then fluttered closed—that small tell letting her see how much he relished this.


When she rolled again he flexed his hips and pressed the hard ridge of himself up against her.


He came off her nipple after a long moment, breathing noticeably hard.


“Such movements work better without clothes.”


Then he took the other nipple into his mouth. Clearly intending a repeat performance.

 

[WretchRoad]

"You'd have to let me go for that..." she sighed into the touch of his tongue, a sigh that turned into a groan when she admitted "but I don't want you to stop."

Letting go of his head, she grabbed his collar again, ripping at the zipper with more emphasis this time as she whispered "I want to see more of you, too." She needed to know where those inked lines led, to trace them with her fingertips and learn his story.

She ground into him again to make it absolutely clear that she agreed, that she wanted his skin against hers and to feel the sweat slick between them.