Certainty eludes me. Steam obscures detail. My glasses cloud further.
Even so, the thought of being seen sends a sharp thrill through me.
I close the door quickly, the latch clicking louder than I’d hoped.
My heart races. More heat gathers under my skin, spreading downward. It’s pleasant at first, then increasingly urgent. The sensation demands release, insistent and consuming.
I retreat to the bed and slide beneath the thick duvet, pulling it close around me.
Through the wall, the sounds continue. Running water. Broken breath. The rhythmic meeting of skin against skin. Moans grow louder, rougher, and unrestrained.
The need blooms inside me, a burning pull that rises from within and refuses to be ignored.
My hand slips beneath the duvet, past the waistband of my pants. This feels necessary. A way to clear space before my thoughts overwhelm me completely.
I close my eyes.
Stan’s voice carries through the wall. “Ever come without stroking yourself?”
The sensation builds fast, driven by his words alone. I try to picture him there, holding Nil in place as his hips pummel into him.
Instead, my mind returns to the image from Stan’s phone. His smile. Nil beside him. The narrow space between their bodies. I place myself there, imagining what it must feel like to be filled by them.
“You close?” Stan’s question pulls a gasp from me. It’s meant for Nil, yet my body answers all the same.
I whisper, “Yes,” the word high-pitched into the heated air.
The pressure crests in time with their own release beyond the wall, their moans undeniably audible. My breathing turns shallow and uneven.
Release follows quickly.
A sound escapes me, more breath than voice, as sensation rushes through me in waves. It leaves me loose, emptied of thought, my mind quiet at last. The world narrows to warmth and weight, the distant sound of water fading.
Sleep takes me soon after, heavy and immediate, my mind too spent to spiral.
***
A knock draws me out of sleep.
I blink awake slowly, aware of my body before I am of my thoughts. The first thing I register is how relaxed I feel. It takes only a moment to recognize why. I finally reached REM sleep, deep and uninterrupted, after the last few nights of restless, broken cycles.
When I open my eyes more fully, the room comes into focus, and I’m briefly surprised to find my glasses are still on my face. I push them up and take in my surroundings, reminding myself where I am. Off-white walls, tall windows, softened light. The Knights’ estate. The guest room. No longer the ship.
I sit up and let the duvet fall back, making a pointed effort to ignorethe desk nearby and the small collection of MedBay items resting there. My attention moves elsewhere.
Another knock follows, then another, lighter and quicker, accompanied by Stan’s voice drifting through the door in a sing-song cadence that carries easy confidence. “Em,” he calls in a melody. “You alive in there? Because dinner’s happening, and it’s gonna besogood, gorgeous.”
Nil’s voice joins in, quieter but threading care through Stan’s enthusiasm. “If you’d rather stay in, we can bring something over to you.”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, smoothing my clothes and fixing my hair, as I make my way to open the door.
“There’s no need for that,” I tell them. “I’d appreciate being led to the dining room.”
Stan’s standing directly in front of me, and the sight of him triggers a sudden flash of memory. Steam. Glass. Movement behind it. Sound carried through walls. The warmth returns low in my body. His mouth curves into a knowing smirk that suggests far more than he says, and for a moment, I wonder if he caught me watching them.
My mind reminds me of the fog, the steam, the way my glasses clouded. There was too much uncertainty to draw a conclusion, and he makes no comment, offering no confirmation.
Nil stands beside me, and together, we turn down the corridor.
