It's been a long, hard trip so far. Fifteen months in the cramped quarters of the ISS Poseidon, first in the long swing around the Earth for a boost and then the slow crawl out past Mars to begin our journey toward Enceladus. The first humans to set foot on a rock past the asteroid belt, they'd heralded us as, but maybe they skimped just a little on mentioning just how long this would feel like.

The first year was hell on Earth- or, uh, off Earth, with the feed back to good old Terra Firma cutting out at odd intervals. At first we'd been able to talk to Mission Control daily, and even stream a grainy feed from back home. I'd seen my nephew take his first steps as we glided past Deimos, and I'd heard you giggling with your boyfriend late into what was only nominally night, anymore, from the privacy of the strapped-in bunk right next to yours. My own... personal time... had been a bit stunted, what with the hazard of leaving swirling orbs of cum inscribing orbits in the air if I missed my sock.

And then the signal had grown weaker, and more intermittent, and we were almost on our own, the only contact now a message every week shot from a satellite on the Red Planet, and a Dear Jane letter for you that had taken a month to transmit.

The month after that had been awkward, with the four hours on the treadmill a day turning from companionable jogging to a dance of shifting glances and flushed cheeks, stolen gazes and mumbled intimations.

Out past the Kuiper Belt, no one really gives a shit if you wear clothes day-to-day, and so we had, in the course of the journey, fallen into another companionable exercise. Just the taut dusky pink of my skin pressed up against yours, sweat floating gently off our bodies and hands clamped firmly to the rails, thrusting against each other with ragged grunts the loudest moans we could muster.

In space, no one can hear you fuck.

Even if we needed to chase down beads of sweat and cum, spheres of pleasure's memory in the capsule, it had been great. But... humanity has a drive to explore. To be the first, and just as we were thrust into the great black beyond on a mission that would take years to complete, the spirit of exploration took root inside the lonely speck of us sliding through the endless night.

We weren't the first to perform docking maneuvers of our own in space- that honor belonged to some Danish couple on one of the first Venus flybys, at least confirmed- but that doesn't need to stop us.

Which brings us to now.

Lube forms solid bubbles, slowly, drifting from the cleft of your ass and floating strangely inside you, and your knuckles whiten on the handgrips of your bunk as I drift into position behind you. Strong hands fasten on your waist, letting your hips adjust, and the swollen kiss of my cock presses firmly against the tight pucker already half-slack from my probing fingers.

This is it.

Time to trade grins and brace ourselves for landing, because, well... we may not be the first to fuck beyond the surly bonds of Earth, but we'll be damned if we're not the first to buttfuck.

In space.

Kinks for this one: Butt stuff, slow-burn romance, hard sci-fi (nudge nudge, wink wink), doin' it in zero-G.

As usual, please feel free to take a stroll through my other prompts to see if you'd like one of those better, or have a peek at my profile!