Contact with Watney
Contact with Watney the martian stories
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fiction by yatima posted on commaful. see the rest: https://archiveofourown.o...

Contact with Watney

Beck was studying my x-rays when I came out of the shower, his face serious. He inhaled deeply and said: “Fresh air at last. Thank Christ. Our long national nightmare is over.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious.”

“Says you. Let me check the dressing.”

I sat on his bunk and he knelt in front of me to run his hands over my broken ribs. While his attention was occupied I took the opportunity to stare down at him.

Sure, I hadn’t seen another person in eighteen months and just looking at any living human, even Vogel, would have made me drunk with delight.

But Beck is a straight-up knockout, eyes like the ocean and cheekbones out to here and warm clever capable hands and muscular arms and under his tshirt, all hard muscle.

He smelled amazing; he always did. And he was kneeling in front of me, and I was wearing a wet towel. I wondered if he could see me blushing.

I wondered if the towel covered the fact that I was getting hard.

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