Nastya trails her hand absent-mindedly along the wall, metal panelling warm under her fingers, vibrating softly with the distant hum of the engines. Aurora shudders, and Nastya presses her palm more firmly against the wall, strokes it gently, leans her forehead against the wall too, and feels Aurora purring against her, around her, through her.
Around her, Aurora thrums, contented.
Nastya crawls through ducts where a warm draught moves, thick with the smell of oil and metal, and the walls hum with the throb of the engines, in time with the throb of the quicksilver in her veins. Nearer and nearer she slips towards Aurora's heart, and here there is no gravity, nothing to bind her but the thrum of her blood that sings for her ship as she swims through her passageways.
Aurora purrs, and Nastya sighs, long and slow, stroking the pipes.
Wires running through the walls, or twined in Nastya's hands, the nerves of her ship. Pipes and tubes and conduits, her companion's veins and arteries. The throbbing, thrumming, roaring engine, her lover's heart - the pulse she can always feel, wherever she goes, the song that hums in her blood, in her dreams.
Nastya's heart pumps quicksilver, her dreams sing iron and electricity and starlight, dancing through pipes and wires and ducts and spinning cogs and pounding pistons. Lovers for centuries have lived in their lovers' hearts in metaphor, but Nastya lives there in truth, swims through her lover's veins, sleeps curled, not merely in her embrace, but close against the very heart of her, where its beat thrills through her body, until every inch of her rings with it.
She caresses metal plates as warm as any lover's touch ever was, lies in a nest of pipes and wires and tubing, and if the life-blood pumping through these arteries is not red, well, then, neither is Nastya's own. And what red-blooded human lover could ever sing to her as Aurora does? Whose embrace could hold her as completely? Who could sing her the song that Aurora sings her of pistons and of oil, of the micrometeoroids that pepper Aurora's hull with dimpled scars, of electricity dancing through her walls and floors, of spinning fans and sweeping sails and smashing atoms, of soaring through the eternal darkness cradling, cradling Nastya to her heart?
The engine thrums, the fans roar, the vibrations hum through the walls and the floor - and floating here at Aurora's heart, there is no difference between walls and floor and ceiling, and Nastya hangs at the centre of it all with Aurora's song flooding though her.
It sings through Nastya as it seems it always has, it always will, this song that is so much greater than her, this vibration that throbs through her until her pulse beats in time with it, hammering in her ears, hammering through her as the vibrations rush over her and through her and she is hot and wild and full with it, and Aurora is the her world and her stars and her universe and everything else is empty blackness forever but Aurora is enough, the song of her and the warmth of her and the thrill of her and the need of her.
Aurora's song is more than Nastya can ever hold, it fills her and heats her and she is writhing with it, lost in it, clutching with one hand at a pipe as she strokes herself with the other, rough and desperate and gasping.
Nastya screams, tossing her head in wild abandon as orgasm floods through her, her hands snatching at whatever she can reach, tying herself down with the wires.
Aurora thrums, and all across the ship the lights flicker.
Nastya pants, her heart pounding. Takes a breath, and another, leans her cheek against a warm, warm wall, and closes her eyes.
Aurora floats onward through the black. Solar winds stretch her sails, stardust ricochets from her hull, where scratched and faded paint spells out her name in the alphabet of a distant, ancient planet. Before and behind and all around there is nothing but the black and the stars and the endless, endless night. Aurora drifts on.
At her heart, Nastya sleeps, and Aurora's song hums through her dreams.
Wherever she goes, Aurora is with her, around her, singing to her. Wherever she wanders, Nastya is held in her embrace, floating through infinity together, together, together for always, and without her ship Nastya will crumble finally as surely as Aurora will eventually shake herself apart without her mechanic.