Growing up, at home it was not uncommon for us all to go without clothing. That is not uncommon among many people. I can remember visiting with close friends and clothing being the exception rather than the norm.
I am not going to sleep in a brahkhen when I am in my own quarters. That is just silly. It will bunch up around my hips and be uncomfortable.
I turn off the lights, remove my brahkhen, and slide under the covers.
As if sensing my presence, and before I can even find a comfortable position, Davies has rolled over and draped an arm around me from behind.
His body is warm and no, he does not smell objectionable to me, either.
I close my eyes and feel a mixture of longing and peace settle within me.
* * * *
When my alarm goes off the next morning, Davies is, unfortunately, no longer draped over me. He is sleeping with his back pressed against mine, though.
But he does not stir until I sit up to silence the alarm.
That is when I feel him startle. I glance back to see him staring at me.
“Holy shit,” he mutters. “Do I owe you an apology?”
I shake my head. “You were not improper with me. I did not wish to send you out last night drunk and unable to function. I did not mind sharing a bed with you. I would do so again, even if you were not drunk. I found the experience pleasant.”
“Still, I’m sorry if I did or said anything that made you uncomfortable.”
“You did not. It was nice not being alone in bed.” I grab my brahkhen and rise to go use the facilities, closing the door behind me.
The more I think about it…
Yes, it wasverynice not being alone in bed. There was something comforting about his presence.
When I emerge, Davies is sitting on the edge of the bed and running a hand through his rumpled hair. “We still on for dinner tonight?”
“Yes. As long as you buy all the groceries we will need.”
He stands and stops in front of me, looking up at me for a long moment. When he next speaks, his voice sounds soft and somber. “If I promise to stay sober and keep my hands to myself, can I spend tonight here, too?”
“I would not object to that.”
I make sure he has a cereal bar to eat, and drinks plenty of water, before I leave for work. He leaves with me, and we part ways at the lift station, where I point him to his correct lift to take him to the level where his hotel is located.
Then I step into the personnel lift and I am left with the memory of the parting image of him giving me a long, lingering look before he stepped into his lift car.
I do not know what is in store for us, but it promises not to be a boring few weeks while he is here.
* * * *
“You have no idea how much I donotwant to get on that ship tomorrow,” Davies says to me when I emerge from the bathroom. He is propped up in bed.
Over the past four weeks that he has been on the space station, we have spent ten nights together—not sexually, just sharing a bed—either in my apartment or, like tonight, in his hotel room.
We have eaten at least one meal together every day, meaning we have seen each other every day.
Tonight we ordered takeout and brought it back to his room so we could talk and Davies could have a couple of glasses of liquor.
I wonder now if perhaps that is also coloring his view of life.
All of his things are packed and neatly stowed on his porta-sled, except for what he will wear tomorrow. The sight of his room now looking like little more than the hotel room it is fills me with apprehension.
