Aroma of eucalyptus and jasmine drifted on artificially generated breezes from outside; through the open French doors which led from the suite to the balcony overlooking the park twelve meters below. Dirk, a glass in hand, padded silently across the oriental style rug that covered the faux marble floor, and sat down in one of the low slung lounge chairs out on the balcony. He looked over at the bed where Alex lay, still fast asleep, one leg draped over a pillow, hand tucked under her chin, and her hair half covering her face. The sheet covering her had partially slid off when she'd rolled over in her sleep, revealing her lithe figure in a state of unadorned repose, and he stirred reflexively. He allowed himself another few seconds to commit the image of her lying there to memory before turning back to his drink. The station's nocturnal period wasn't really necessary, but humans think that day-night cycles on a station make life easier, so they engineer stations to have them. Dirk couldn't have cared less, so long as it was quiet; he was deep in thought, and he found the quiet beneficial to that end.
He was looking forward to getting back aboard, and getting the hell off the station. In moments of introspection like this, he sometimes wondered if he shouldn't have re-uped when the recruiting officer had come around. At the time, however, he'd had enough of fighting people he respected to impose another pointless, artificial, border on them. Truth be told, the sight of a Darkaellan VIP and his escort had had a lot to do with it; the last thing he needed was to get their attention. That would be all kinds of bad news. He knew a lot of people - most of them former Marines - who shared that attitude, if for rather different reasons than himself, and still more who would have picked a fight with them just for the hell of it. Although people in the latter category could best be described as idiots.
A change in Alex's breathing and sound of movement caused him to glance over at her again. His feelings for her were the very definition of complex. He was a product of an extremely strict upbringing; the idea of consorting with the people who made up the Jester's crew, and were now closer to him than his own family, was anathema to those who had raised him. His father in particular would probably have an apoplectic seizure if he knew what Dirk had been doing no more than an hour beforehand. The only person he'd ever been able to really relate to was his grandfather. He had been the one who had provided cover for Dirk when he had fled his homeworld, and that was a debt owing he doubted he would ever be able to repay. His mother, who exerted considerable influence over her husband, would probably be more understanding of his decision to leave home, and probably just be glad he was well, if he were to risk getting a message to her. As it was, she had to settle for what she got via Granddad, because the chance that they might try to track him down was one he wasn't yet prepared to take.
He did wonder every so often, what his younger brother and sister were up to. They were both talented kids, and he figured that adulthood would only sharpen their natural abilities. Caroline had been obsessed with becoming a veterinarian as a child, and he hoped she'd realize that dream. Daniel had been about ten, and something of a musical prodigy, but beyond that his memories of Danny were hazy at best. His two older brothers, however, could get obliterated by a meteorite strike tomorrow, and he would have to revisit the idea that there was no just and benevolent God in the universe. To say that the three of them didn't get along was a gross understatement. Malcolm and Kirk had been born a year apart, and as a result, they had grown up together; Dirk had been born five years later, and been something of a time investment. As near as he could tell, Malcolm had felt that he should have gotten more attention than he had, and his resentment found a focus in Dirk. Kirk was Malcolm's shadow, so he just went with the flow, but as the years went by, he settled for indifference over malice. Malcolm never gave an inch, although he was forced to abandon physical violence when Dirk began studying the sword and unarmed combat at the age of twelve. By the time he was fourteen, Dirk had decided that he wasn't taking attitude from anyone, ever again, and made the mistake of thinking that he was entitled to dish it out.
He and Malcolm had it out one day. The fight had moved out to a second story terrace, and Dirk had been pinned against the balustrade, where Malcolm had told him that he should be more respectful of his elders. Dirk had laughed in his face, and made a highly questionable suggestion - possibly involving barnyard fowl - and dared him to do his worst.
He had woken up in a regeneration tank with no memory of what had happened, save for a brief sensation of flight, and a sudden weightlessness. Malcolm, in a rage, had pitched him over the edge of the terrace, and Dirk had hit the ground on his upper back. The impact had cracked three of his vertebrae, fractured his left scapula in two places, broken four ribs, collapsed a lung, and caused a minor concussion (his head had hit a prize rose bush instead of the granite cobbled walkway) along with a shitload of bruises.
His father had been livid, not because one of his children had nearly killed another, but because of the loss of face from having his sons' wrangling made part of the public record. He had managed to have any legal action against Malcolm forestalled by forcing him to acknowledge his actions, and make financial restitution. Dirk received half of his brother's very generous stipend for four years, until he turned eighteen, when he decided to take what he'd saved, then just up and left. He joined the Alliance Marine Corps a month and a half later.
It had been like coming home. The Corps had offered him a promise of earned respect and hard work, and he had done well within those parameters. He had found a sense of brotherhood with his fellow Marines, even amidst the horrors of the war on Draconis, when it carried him through the worst fighting in the Scatha region. His two years in a Fleet Marine Unit were some of the best of his hitch, and he usually described them as a two year paid holiday. The four years he did in a Force Reconnaissance unit were anything but. The last six months of his final tour had a seen some incredibly thick, hard, and heavy fighting, and when his enlistment was up, he'd decided he'd had enough.
He found sharing his childhood with others difficult at best, and he found it practically impossible with Alex. He couldn't think of a way to explain to someone who had been raised in a loving, if somewhat unorthodox family, how dysfunctional his own had been. Explaining the problems he'd had adjusting to life as a civilian had actually been easier, probably because she had watched him dealing with them when he first came aboard the Jester. He still found himself occasionally having to cope with the emotional scars that came with exposure to violence, but the episodes were never severe or particularly long lasting, which made dealing with them relatively easy.
He heard the sound of rustling sheets as Alex moved again, but didn't turn to look until he heard the sound of her footsteps on the floor. She had wrapped a sheet around herself, although it wasn't cold, and walked out onto the balcony. She sat down on the edge of the lounge chair and combed her fingers through his hair in a silent gesture of affection.
"Can't sleep?" She asked quietly, kissing him.
"Nah, just woke up, and started reminiscing about my childhood, for some bizarre reason." He said, moving aside slightly so she could lie down next to him.
"Anything good?" She asked, cautiously, knowing that she was venturing into an emotional minefield.
"Not really." He said eventually. "I was thinking about my brother. He's a sanctimonious prick who used to kick the shit out of me as a kid." The bitterness in his voice was palpable.
Alex wasn't accustomed to hearing him talk about his life before he'd joined the Marine Corps, and it shocked the last vestiges of sleep out of her system. Past experience had shown that prying into Dirk's history was not going to get you on his good side; she was now wide awake, however, and clearly realized that she might never get another chance like this.
"I didn't know you had a brother." She commented, hoping he might be prompted to say more.
"Three, actually." He chuckled as he spoke. "Two older, one younger, and a younger sister, and, yeah, I realize that makes me a middle child." He said, smiling.
He looked down and saw her staring at him, clearly shocked by the unexpected revelation that he had a family at all, much less four siblings. He pushed a stray twist of hair out of the way, and tilted his head down to kiss her on the forehead. She pushed herself up off the lounge chair, took his hand, and used the other to undo the sheet she'd wrapped around herself. Taking the hint, he swung around to face her, standing naked in front of him. The offer wasn't exactly subtle, but neither was he, so he didn't really notice the lack. She was marvellous to look at, and he cupped his hands under her toned buttocks as he stood up, lifting her off the floor, she hooked her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He felt the warmth of her firm, pink-tipped breasts on his chest, and the thin, downy fuzz just above her sex pressed against his pelvis as he carried her back into the room. He was almost painfully erect by the time he got her to the bed; once there, she reached for him, and placed him in position between her legs. He needed no further urging, and she gasped with pleasure as he entered her.
They were both covered in perspiration and gasping for breath an hour later.
Dirk was almost certain he would be hearing from the hotel management; Alex had nearly screamed the paint off the walls. It was never clear to him what had driven the two of them together, but he had come to see maintaining their relationship as the most worthwhile effort to come along since his decision to leave home. It wasn't just the physical connection they shared, but the mutual respect and trust he'd come to realize he needed just as much. That had come as a shock, unaccustomed as he was to the idea of love in any context. He'd been involved with other women, but those relationships had been lacking in emotional commitment, and short-term hookups had been the general rule during deployment, but the idea of love was somewhat alien. He was adult enough to admit that it had scared him more than a bit, and it had forced him to deal with aspects of the human condition with which he had little experience.
The exertions of the last few hours finally pushed any remaining concerns below the threshold of consciousness, and, like the woman nestled against him, he fell asleep.
He was looking forward to getting back aboard, and getting the hell off the station. In moments of introspection like this, he sometimes wondered if he shouldn't have re-uped when the recruiting officer had come around. At the time, however, he'd had enough of fighting people he respected to impose another pointless, artificial, border on them. Truth be told, the sight of a Darkaellan VIP and his escort had had a lot to do with it; the last thing he needed was to get their attention. That would be all kinds of bad news. He knew a lot of people - most of them former Marines - who shared that attitude, if for rather different reasons than himself, and still more who would have picked a fight with them just for the hell of it. Although people in the latter category could best be described as idiots.
A change in Alex's breathing and sound of movement caused him to glance over at her again. His feelings for her were the very definition of complex. He was a product of an extremely strict upbringing; the idea of consorting with the people who made up the Jester's crew, and were now closer to him than his own family, was anathema to those who had raised him. His father in particular would probably have an apoplectic seizure if he knew what Dirk had been doing no more than an hour beforehand. The only person he'd ever been able to really relate to was his grandfather. He had been the one who had provided cover for Dirk when he had fled his homeworld, and that was a debt owing he doubted he would ever be able to repay. His mother, who exerted considerable influence over her husband, would probably be more understanding of his decision to leave home, and probably just be glad he was well, if he were to risk getting a message to her. As it was, she had to settle for what she got via Granddad, because the chance that they might try to track him down was one he wasn't yet prepared to take.
He did wonder every so often, what his younger brother and sister were up to. They were both talented kids, and he figured that adulthood would only sharpen their natural abilities. Caroline had been obsessed with becoming a veterinarian as a child, and he hoped she'd realize that dream. Daniel had been about ten, and something of a musical prodigy, but beyond that his memories of Danny were hazy at best. His two older brothers, however, could get obliterated by a meteorite strike tomorrow, and he would have to revisit the idea that there was no just and benevolent God in the universe. To say that the three of them didn't get along was a gross understatement. Malcolm and Kirk had been born a year apart, and as a result, they had grown up together; Dirk had been born five years later, and been something of a time investment. As near as he could tell, Malcolm had felt that he should have gotten more attention than he had, and his resentment found a focus in Dirk. Kirk was Malcolm's shadow, so he just went with the flow, but as the years went by, he settled for indifference over malice. Malcolm never gave an inch, although he was forced to abandon physical violence when Dirk began studying the sword and unarmed combat at the age of twelve. By the time he was fourteen, Dirk had decided that he wasn't taking attitude from anyone, ever again, and made the mistake of thinking that he was entitled to dish it out.
He and Malcolm had it out one day. The fight had moved out to a second story terrace, and Dirk had been pinned against the balustrade, where Malcolm had told him that he should be more respectful of his elders. Dirk had laughed in his face, and made a highly questionable suggestion - possibly involving barnyard fowl - and dared him to do his worst.
He had woken up in a regeneration tank with no memory of what had happened, save for a brief sensation of flight, and a sudden weightlessness. Malcolm, in a rage, had pitched him over the edge of the terrace, and Dirk had hit the ground on his upper back. The impact had cracked three of his vertebrae, fractured his left scapula in two places, broken four ribs, collapsed a lung, and caused a minor concussion (his head had hit a prize rose bush instead of the granite cobbled walkway) along with a shitload of bruises.
His father had been livid, not because one of his children had nearly killed another, but because of the loss of face from having his sons' wrangling made part of the public record. He had managed to have any legal action against Malcolm forestalled by forcing him to acknowledge his actions, and make financial restitution. Dirk received half of his brother's very generous stipend for four years, until he turned eighteen, when he decided to take what he'd saved, then just up and left. He joined the Alliance Marine Corps a month and a half later.
It had been like coming home. The Corps had offered him a promise of earned respect and hard work, and he had done well within those parameters. He had found a sense of brotherhood with his fellow Marines, even amidst the horrors of the war on Draconis, when it carried him through the worst fighting in the Scatha region. His two years in a Fleet Marine Unit were some of the best of his hitch, and he usually described them as a two year paid holiday. The four years he did in a Force Reconnaissance unit were anything but. The last six months of his final tour had a seen some incredibly thick, hard, and heavy fighting, and when his enlistment was up, he'd decided he'd had enough.
He found sharing his childhood with others difficult at best, and he found it practically impossible with Alex. He couldn't think of a way to explain to someone who had been raised in a loving, if somewhat unorthodox family, how dysfunctional his own had been. Explaining the problems he'd had adjusting to life as a civilian had actually been easier, probably because she had watched him dealing with them when he first came aboard the Jester. He still found himself occasionally having to cope with the emotional scars that came with exposure to violence, but the episodes were never severe or particularly long lasting, which made dealing with them relatively easy.
He heard the sound of rustling sheets as Alex moved again, but didn't turn to look until he heard the sound of her footsteps on the floor. She had wrapped a sheet around herself, although it wasn't cold, and walked out onto the balcony. She sat down on the edge of the lounge chair and combed her fingers through his hair in a silent gesture of affection.
"Can't sleep?" She asked quietly, kissing him.
"Nah, just woke up, and started reminiscing about my childhood, for some bizarre reason." He said, moving aside slightly so she could lie down next to him.
"Anything good?" She asked, cautiously, knowing that she was venturing into an emotional minefield.
"Not really." He said eventually. "I was thinking about my brother. He's a sanctimonious prick who used to kick the shit out of me as a kid." The bitterness in his voice was palpable.
Alex wasn't accustomed to hearing him talk about his life before he'd joined the Marine Corps, and it shocked the last vestiges of sleep out of her system. Past experience had shown that prying into Dirk's history was not going to get you on his good side; she was now wide awake, however, and clearly realized that she might never get another chance like this.
"I didn't know you had a brother." She commented, hoping he might be prompted to say more.
"Three, actually." He chuckled as he spoke. "Two older, one younger, and a younger sister, and, yeah, I realize that makes me a middle child." He said, smiling.
He looked down and saw her staring at him, clearly shocked by the unexpected revelation that he had a family at all, much less four siblings. He pushed a stray twist of hair out of the way, and tilted his head down to kiss her on the forehead. She pushed herself up off the lounge chair, took his hand, and used the other to undo the sheet she'd wrapped around herself. Taking the hint, he swung around to face her, standing naked in front of him. The offer wasn't exactly subtle, but neither was he, so he didn't really notice the lack. She was marvellous to look at, and he cupped his hands under her toned buttocks as he stood up, lifting her off the floor, she hooked her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He felt the warmth of her firm, pink-tipped breasts on his chest, and the thin, downy fuzz just above her sex pressed against his pelvis as he carried her back into the room. He was almost painfully erect by the time he got her to the bed; once there, she reached for him, and placed him in position between her legs. He needed no further urging, and she gasped with pleasure as he entered her.
They were both covered in perspiration and gasping for breath an hour later.
Dirk was almost certain he would be hearing from the hotel management; Alex had nearly screamed the paint off the walls. It was never clear to him what had driven the two of them together, but he had come to see maintaining their relationship as the most worthwhile effort to come along since his decision to leave home. It wasn't just the physical connection they shared, but the mutual respect and trust he'd come to realize he needed just as much. That had come as a shock, unaccustomed as he was to the idea of love in any context. He'd been involved with other women, but those relationships had been lacking in emotional commitment, and short-term hookups had been the general rule during deployment, but the idea of love was somewhat alien. He was adult enough to admit that it had scared him more than a bit, and it had forced him to deal with aspects of the human condition with which he had little experience.
The exertions of the last few hours finally pushed any remaining concerns below the threshold of consciousness, and, like the woman nestled against him, he fell asleep.
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