"I don't want slow," Scottie said. "I'm still good from last night, you don't have to go slow, I'm ready." He tossed the lube at Cyril as he climbed onto the bed. "Hurry."
"You're rather bossy today," Cyril remarked as he spread lube over his cock. No condoms, they'd decided to go without since it was abundantly clear they weren't going to be fucking other people right now. "Trying to give me orders." He slid forward on his knees until he was crouched between Scottie's legs. "Tell me what to do." He pushed Scottie's legs back, then reached a slick finger down and inside of him, testing. "Perhaps I should go slow after all."
"
No
," Scottie almost snarled, "you
shouldn't
. I want you in me and I don't care if I have to throw you down and climb on top on you to get it, you—" His rant cut off abruptly as Cyril pressed his cock to Scottie's hole and pushed inside with a deep, steady thrust. "Oh, fuck," he breathed. "That's… yes, Cy, god."
"That's what you needed?" Cyril asked, pulling out halfway before pushing back in. "My cock in your ass,
malysh
?"
"Christ," Scottie swore. "Are you sweet talking me in Russian now? Save your breath for fucking, Cy."
"I think I can do both," Cyril said, trying to keep control despite how eager his body was being. "You feel so fucking good,
malysh
.
Lyubov moya
, ah, fuck." Cyril got his arms under Scottie's legs and pushed him further back, bending him in half. It was the perfect angle for his cock, and Scottie grunted beneath him, his cock hard and bright red, completely untouched. "Good boy, don't touch yourself, let me make you come."
"Then get on with it," Scottie said, but his expression was vulnerable. Neither of them were the types to make declarations, but for Scottie, Cyril though he could do it. Even if he had to soften it with Russian.
"
Dorogoy. Ya lyublyu tebya vsem serdtsem.
" Scottie reached for him, pulled him down into the curl of his arms, so close and so tight that it should have been uncomfortable but all Cyril could think about was that he was inside of his lover, he was fucking him, he
owned
him. It would tear him apart to lose Scottie, absolutely break him in two, but that part he couldn't say. He didn't have to. Scottie still knew.
"I'm close," Cyril ground out, thrusting harder and harder into the tight, smooth heat of Scottie's ass. Cyril liked receiving but Scottie loved it,
craved
it lately.
"Fuck, give it to me," Scottie groaned. "Come in me, I need it, luv, I need you."
Cyril was wordless a second later, one long, drawn out string of tension. He let go, ramming in hard and shooting his load as far up into Scottie's body as he could get it, as if he could just get deep enough then Scottie could stay, somehow. Cyril broke at the end of it, the tension leaving him quivering, and pulled out of Scottie with a sigh. His cry of objection turned into a moan as Cyril swallowed Scottie's cock, taking it to the back of his throat and sucking, wanting his turn to take something inside. Scottie didn't last long, and a few minutes later they were wrapped around each other, sweaty, out of breath and back on as even a keel as they ever were.
"So," Scottie said after a moment. "You love me with all your heart, do you darling?"
Cyril shut his eyes and turned his face into Scottie's shoulder. "Shut up, you already knew that," he muttered.
"I did, I do. It was nice to hear it though, even if it was in your terrible Russian accent."
"My accent is fine."
"You sound American no matter what language you're speaking, Cy." Scottie smiled at him. "There are worse things, I suppose."
"
You
are American too," Cyril pointed out.
"Right, but I'm lucky enough not to sound like one."
"Keep that up and I won't be telling you again," Cyril threatened.
"Oh, really?"
"No, not really."
All crewmembers' personal baggage is limited to forty kilos. You may not bring any unauthorized items with you (see Section 4.b for a list of unauthorized items). Items you opt to leave behind may be forwarded on future supply runs, weight and fuel restrictions allowing, based on a first come, first serve basis. The ISA does not hold itself responsible for any lost or missing items of personal baggage that may occur during transit. If such losses do occur, you will likely have larger issues to worry about. -- ISA Project Evergreen Handbook
The month before the launch was utter chaos, a combination of frenetic busyness and last minute preparations that made Cyril wonder how the first three missions to Mars had ever gotten off the ground. Perhaps it was the scope of this one that seemed to make it so intimidating. Evergreen had the largest ship, the largest crew and the most avid backers of any mission yet, and everyone wanted a piece of the festivities. The crewmembers, who had largely been kept out of the public eye for most of the preparation, were given leave to grant interviews, answer questions (all carefully vetted) and say their goodbyes.
Cyril thought he was doing rather well, honestly. He and Scottie slept together every night, even if it was for as little as two hours, but there were no breakdowns, no crying jags, none of the heavy, suffocating emotion he'd dealt with after their first separation. He could handle this. He was saying goodbye, but because of his position with Konstantin, he'd be in the enviable position of getting to communicate with Scottie on a fairly regular basis. He wasn't sure if that would make it all better or worse, but regardless he was grateful.
"Just don't tell me private things, hmm?" Scottie had requested late one night, when they were just drunk enough. "I don't want to know when you start shagging other blokes, so do keep your flawless face bottled up tight when you chat at me, all right luv?"
"Not a problem," Cyril assured him. "I won't ask you to do the same, because there's no way I'm not gonna know who's fucking who up there. No one can keep a secret for shit."
"You wound me, darling."
"No, I love you." That shut him right up.
They didn't go all out their last night, no huge romantic dinner or stunning declarations. They spent four hours screwing in Scottie's bed, and when they were all fucked out Cyril handed him a package.
"What's this, then?" Scottie asked, picking up the rectangular package and shaking it.
"Open it and find out."
Scottie complied, and the look of shock that came over his face when a flesh-toned dildo rolled out into his hands made Cyril laugh. "It's got a control panel for to access vibration functions under the balls, it runs on Solar-V batteries, and it's made from a cast of mine. Now you can take my dick with you. I've already worked it into your weight allotment and everything."
"Cy." Scottie turned the dildo over in his hands. He was smiling, a bit wobbly, but Cyril would take it. "I'll treasure it. You'll have to send me another when I wear this one out, though."
"Jesus, just don't go dipping it into acid or anything and it should be fine, the warranty is for five years."
"Everything corrodes faster on Mars. And I'm willing to bet that taking merchandise off planet is sufficient to void almost any warranty."
"Fine." Cyril flopped back onto the bed. "I'll send as many as you want."
"Excellent." They lay together and stared at it for a moment before Scottie said, "I just had my last physical today, and all was well… do you think I could fit both of yours in me at once?"
Cyril stared at Scottie for a long moment before jumping on top of him, lust resurging in his veins. "Fuck, we'd better try it while we can."
There was a moment early the next morning, before the mission coordinator came by to make sure Scottie was up, dressed, pressed, and perfect, when they were wrapped in each other, surrounded by each other. It would've been the easiest thing in the world right then for Cyril to let the bitterness carry him away, every darker emotion he'd been locking up beating at his chest. He could've given in and begged for Scottie to stay with him. Part of him wanted to.
But there was no more time for grand bargains. No more time for either hope or fear. Just reality.
"You've gone cold," Scottie murmured, shifting in Cyril's arms.
"I know," he said sadly. "I can't help it."
"Oh, luv." Scottie tilted his head up and looked at Cyril. "Were we wrong to start this up again?"
"It doesn't matter," Cyril said. "I wanted it."
"I don't want to leave you alone."
"I won't be alone." Not completely. "I'll still have you, just… differently."
"Fuck, Cy." Cyril felt hot tears on his collarbone, but he didn't let himself think about them. "
Fuck
."
The actual leaving went very smoothly. There was no time for long goodbyes or effusive regrets. There were pictures, videos, government officials and corporate partners making speeches. There were last-minute checks and nervous support staff and Cyril had to be a part of it, and their last farewell came in public, with Scottie standing next to Sophie, both of them beautiful and bright in their official Evergreen uniforms.
"Good luck," Cyril said, hugging Sophie. "I know you'll have an amazing time together."
"You have to send us new cute kitten videos, okay?" Sophie said, wiping away a few tears. "I've got loads of them saved to my tab, but I'm like an addict with those things."
"I know," Cyril said, and Scottie chuckled faintly. They hugged each other next, gentle and brief. Cyril still felt the calming cold that had come over him that morning, and he was grateful it stopped any tears or outcries before they could find a voice within him. "Be safe," he said.
"You too. If I find out you've been HALO jumping again I'll jump on the first ship home just to kick your arse."
"I'll be counting on it." They let each other go, slowly, and then the world sped up and moved on and ten hours later, Cyril sat next to his father in the observation stand and watched his rockets propel Evergreen into the sky, a flawless rise toward the stars. He heard the pilot's pronouncements, saw them break through the atmosphere and set their trajectory toward Mars, and everyone cheered.
And the ice settled in to stay.
"It never dawned on us that life is unpredictable, that one day, one of us could suddenly cease to exist and what then? What would be the joy in having left so much unsaid? With what memories would we fill the empty silence?"
--Isabel Lopez, Isabel's Hand-Me-Down Dreams
Before the ISA started using VASIMR rockets, it took half a year for a shuttle to reach Mars, which was a lot of time for things to go wrong, as evidenced by Tadpole. Now Evergreen would reach the surface of the red planet in only fifty-four days, and Cyril spent every one of them working to get as much access to their communications as possible, just to ensure that things were going well.
Mona Brown spent a lot of that time with him, somewhere between comforting and bedeviling. She had developed a blood clot in her leg a few months into the second stage of training, and been let go. It hadn't bothered her too much; she ended up engaged to the Head of Logistics for Project Evergreen, and as such was always around. She was a nice distraction most of the time, except when she got ridiculously theoretical.
"I'm just saying it's a possibility," she opined over lunch forty-two days into the mission. Cyril had gotten four messages from Scottie in that time, every one of them in written form. The mission couldn't spare a lot of power for nonessential communication, but everyone got a chance to send an email back every now and then. Apparently the average was two per member, and Cyril felt pleased Scottie had apparently stolen his sister's chances as well as using his own.
"They've got the Sapling, which is cleared for solitary space travel. If they weren't confident it would work they wouldn't have outfitted it to send back all those experiments, would they?"
"It's not cleared to safely house a person on a trip back to Earth," Cyril explained for what felt like the tenth time. "It's not made to be piloted by a person. There aren't even any living quarters on it."
"But in cases of emergency—"
"In a case of an emergency there would be a panic and too many people might try to fly off in it, so they haven't even broached the topic with the crew." It was true. The trip to Mars was expressly one way, and no one on the crew ever talked about the possibility of coming back. "If you go, you're there for life."
"I think it's stupid for them not to use every avenue they have, that's all."
"Your idea of mental health isn't necessarily the best one."
"Hey,
I
wasn't left behind because of
my
brain," she pointed out acridly. They stared at each other for a long moment before she folded. "Sorry, that was rude."
"Yeah, but when have I ever expected any better from you?"
"Bastard." She threw her napkin at him and stood up. "See you in Control later, right?"
"Right." If he could find the time.
Cyril kept himself busy. It was the best way he knew to stave off the heat that threatened him with a painful thaw whenever his mind got away from him. He took on more responsibilities for his division with Konstantin International, making himself more responsible, more irreplaceable. It gave him the leverage he needed to keep up his current situation in Los Alamos, somewhere between private contractor and ISA employee. It gave him access to the shuttle's logs, the pilots' conversations and the minutiae of the running of Evergreen, all of which he avidly devoured. He would make himself an expert in everything Evergreen, broaden his horizons from the VASIMR and Scottie. That would be enough to keep anyone occupied, and that was what Cyril knew he needed.
The landing was tense, but successful. They received video footage of the joyful greetings between the crew already stationed on MB1 and the newcomers, and it brought tears to a lot of eyes in Mission Control. Cyril scoured the transmission for a glimpse of Scottie, but only found three seconds worth of him—he turned briefly toward the camera, the hint of a smile on his face, but then someone stepped in front of him and his image was lost.