John Ringo - Cally's War

His eyes, and that grin, made her feel like her bones had all suddenly just melted away. She stood there blinking at him for a couple of seconds before managing to get her brain back in gear and move back to her desk.

“I’m settling in okay, I guess.” She pushed her hair back with a hand. “Are there many canapé situations on Titan?”

“Some.” He shrugged. The brass have to do something for fun.”

“That’s a rather irreverent attitude, Pryce.”

“Yes, ma’am. No excuse, ma’am.” But his eyes twinkled at her, and she smiled.

“I’d ask you to dinner again tonight, if we weren’t in the same chain of command.” His eyes focused on hers.

“I’d accept, if we weren’t in the same chain of command,” she met his eyes and looked away, “and if I didn’t think I was likely to have to work late tonight.”

He reached a finger under her chin and pulled her head around, gently, looking her in the eyes. She met his scrutiny for a moment that seemed to last an hour, or maybe a year.

“Okay.” He nodded, and somehow she got the feeling that he understood. She didn’t know how he could have, or how she knew, but she knew he did.

General Beed did not request her presence at a working dinner this evening. Nor did he return to the office this afternoon. Instead, he phoned the office — another eccentricity of his, there was an actual phone on her desk, when she had a perfectly capable PDA that actually was with her when she was away from the desk. On the phone, he requested that she grab a bite of dinner and then bring the Leave File with her, and asked if it would be convenient for him to stop by her quarters on his way between meetings to edit and finalize the changes so she could get the document printed and ready for a staff meeting early Thursday morning. She had, of course, agreed. Sure, General darling. You screw me so maybe I can screw you.

So here she was at Super Burgers with a double deluxe cheeseburger, fries, a double strawberry shake, and a manila envelope, enjoying the fluorescent orange and acid green Galplas décor while she stuffed her food down prior to going to her quarters to try to make some progress on her real job. Oh, joy. He’s not bad looking, and not a bad lay, if he were just a little bit less insensitive.

The restaurant décor had its intended effect and she finished quickly and left, stuffing the trash through the disposal slot on her way out the door. In the transit car on the way back to her quarters she brought up the room controls on her PDA and adjusted the lights, temperature, and background music to reflect the right mood. Relaxed was good.

She hadn’t been home long when he arrived. She’d considered ditching her silks in favor of something less comfortable but more tempting, but had decided it was out of character. Which was just as well. She didn’t actually object to Beed, and he was a step above being alone, and she wanted to find out whatever he knew. Still, she was more comfortable meeting him in the ordinary uniform of her cover than something else. Lingerie would have been a tad too personal. Which was odd because usually by now she would have been so subsumed in the role she wouldn’t consciously think of it being a cover.

As he came in the door, letting it slide closed behind him, she brushed at her hair with one hand in deliberate Sinda-ness. It reminded her of who she was as she shyly, but with increasing eagerness, met his kiss.

Some few minutes later as she rolled with him through yet another position change she almost had to fight for a straight face. Okay, so it’s acrobatics night. Why do men always do this? It’s always either the first or the second lay, and they always go through the same damn five positions, like they’re trying to demonstrate how cosmopolitan or kinky or educated they are, or whatever. Eyes slightly wide, of course I’ve never done this before. Back into character, roll with it, I’d… really… rather… not… have… to fake it. Um… good spot… okay… that works… let’s be nice and enthusiastic so he knows it works. “Oh… oh god that’s so good! God… please, please, please don’t stop… ah… um… ah…” Okay, he’s… getting… the point. Yeah. That’s… g — . Aaah. Okay. Good. All right, your turn, here we go, yeah, that’s right, you taught me to do that you stud you. Sure you did. Come on, come on… There. Good. Now, question is, are you relaxed enough.

“Oh, Bernie, thank you. That was so good.” She hugged him gently, kissing his chest and playing across it idly with her fingers while she lay curled on his shoulder.

“It’s never been like that for me, before. There’s a sense of… I don’t know… authority, maybe. I don’t know, put like that it sounds kind of mundane, and,” she walked her fingers up his chest, “it was wonderful .” She hugged him and gave him a giddy smile, planting another kiss on his chest.

“Oh, I don’t think it’s — what did you say — mundane at all.” He cupped his hand around her breast, idly playing the nipple through his fingers. “You’re a very intuitive woman, Sinda. It’s one of your charms.”

“You,” she started kissing her way down his chest, “are flattering me.” She began idly licking and kissing his skin, enough to be distracting, but not enough to actually render him speechless.

“It doesn’t take any particular intuition to know you’re a general, General.” She traced a circle with her tongue at the crease where his thigh met his hip. “But a little flattery’s okay. I like it. Is it, you know, okay if I do this? You don’t mind, do you? Tell me if, you know, I’m not doing it right.”

“You’re doing fine, sweetheart. Just let your imagination go. Just… uh… no teeth, okay?”

“Mmm… no problem.

“Did I do… that… right?” Her voice was tentative, with a hint of nervous little girl in it, as she snuggled back up against him.

“Oh, yeah,” he breathed. “You should always trust your intuition, dear, especially in bed. You know, I’m not just any general.” His chest inflated slightly. “Generals are a dime a dozen. I’m in this position because I’ve been entrusted with a very important project.” He chuckled, stroking her hair. “You’re not a spy, are you?” he teased. “Anyway, I haven’t really told you anything. Just confirmed your intuition.” He kissed the top of her head gently before swinging his legs over the side of her bed.

“Do you have to go?” She ran a finger down his hip. He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, gently, before setting it back down at her side.

“I’m afraid so. Clarice gets… querulous… if I’m away overnight.”

She watched him, apparently fascinated, as he dressed, as he kissed her, as he left. As the door slid shut behind him she flipped on the filter next to her bed and lit a cigarette.

“Lights out.” She sat with her back propped against the Galplas wall that served in place of a headboard, eyes open, unfocused, as the single orange point threw shadows on the walls.

Thursday morning, Pryce stopped in to her office while the general was indisposed. Damn this kid. You would think getting laid twice in as many days would have the old hormones down to a dull roar. Nobody should smell this good. It ought to be… I don’t know… illegal or something.

“What’s on your mind, Pryce?”

“I’ve just got a minute.” He turned away from her, running a hand through his hair. Not a good idea with Beed’s emphasis on appearance.

“You’re not… investing too much emotionally in working late… I hope… Dammit, Makepeace, you’re too damn young and I don’t want you to get hurt!”