Moments of Red

by Scribewraith

Summary:

Frank finds out about Maia and John and thinks about his part in the situation. Mostly pre-series.

Notes:

• For kangeiko.

Dear Kangeiko,
I hope that you enjoy your Yuletide story. I started to write a story about the love triangle between Frank and Maia and John and it led to this bit of fictional back story. I hope that it fits into your view of the universe and that you also enjoy the unadulterated porn (I stalked and saw that you too are a slasher ;) ).

Thank you for letting me play in one of my favourite novel series and write even tangentally about space and Mars.

Cheers!

PS Thank you to my beta, Obake, who stayed up in the sweltering heat to help me get my ideas into words!

It wasn't Maia who started this, Frank thinks, watching as they cross the common room to sit at the crowded dining table with plates of stew in hand. His gaze flicks across between them for a second and then he looks back down at the reports in front of him, hot coffee in his hand. He listens as Maia and John join in the conversation about what surprises Arkady could have left in his arsenal of practice runs. John laughs as he sits down, grabbing a chunk of bread and dipping it into his bowl, and says that no one can know, Arkady is too tricky for them all. They all laugh and the topic of conversation turns.

Frank knows he can't be happy for them, not really. He knows that he doesn't really deserve any loyalty from either of them, not when it comes to the personal stuff, he and Maia and their failed romance were never that important. He has a better idea of how John must have felt, now, when Frank had started to avoid making opportunities, when he had started making excuses not to share rooms and finding work on the first Mars mission which had to be done over the weekends and late at night. To not let anyone know how close they had actually gotten.

Even now, he's not sure he made the right decision.

Frank knows that getting the Mars Apollo project off the ground was a political process, that working to get the first one hundred to Mars was a political process, and Frank has learned to become a political machine. He knows that the training in Antartica was rigorous -- the psych tests involved, farmers in Minnesota didn't tend to be queer, in love -- they were building a colony not an outpost. Maybe they would have been allowed to come anyway: Frank had made himself essential and John was the golden boy, the First Man on Mars. Maybe they could have made it all work. But he couldn't be sure. It's what he tells himself, anyway.

He looks across at John and for a second he can't control the emotion on his face, the regret, the jealousy, the anger. He looks away and gets it all under control, taking another sip of his coffee, trying to forget the moment he began to throw it all away.

+++

There is a cluster of astronauts and other assorted mission control staff standing around a board peering at a list of names and Frank feels like he's back in the nightmare of high school where the results of the athletic try-outs are posted for everyone to see. He knows that the moment one of them turns around the looks will change to something soft and conciliatory, like the rest of the suits at the meeting he'd just walked out of: sorry but you didn't make it, you're not going to Mars. He'd never made quarterback either. Instead Frank smiles -- because they don't get it, he's won, first man on Mars or no. He turns left, back into the maze of offices and testing facilities, and out through a side door that leads back to the car park and from there to Clear Lake and to John's house.

He pulls into the drive way and the neighbour, Mrs Johnson, smiles and waves at him from where she's watering her garden. He waves back and asks after her husband and the twins. She tells them they've all been well and that she's looking forward to the Fourth of July barbeque they're planning for the cul-de-sac and will he be there? He nods and says good-bye continuing on to the house.

The door is open, he doesn't even have to knock, and he walks through the foyer, past all the pictures of John's previous missions, the pictures of Earth and of space that they took from their time on the space station, and into the living room with it's wall length screen. John is watching the news; legs spread wide open, naked, except for the silk kimono, a gift Frank had bought him on their one and only actual holiday.

The rest of the time they've had together has been stolen, moments when they're both in the same hotel in Washington, lobbying for the Apollo Mars mission or moments when they had been in space alone in a pod, hidden away from the cameras that reported everything they did back down to Mission Control. And looking at John, stretched out and golden with the reflected light and the glow of the sun sneaking past the curtains, Frank thinks that this is all they can ever have -- the moment.

He takes a step forward and reaches over the couch to run his fingers through John's hair, grown to curl around his ears, "You're going to have to cut this again."

"I know," John says without turning. "Are you here to congratulate me?" John throws the remote onto the coffee table and stands, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his neck. The kimono is short enough that it rises to John's hips and Frank crosses his arms, leans back and grins. This is a performance, planned for him. He settles his face into mild amusement, eyebrow cocked as John turns around.

"Is there a reason I should be congratulating you?" he teases. John shifts on his feet. "I mean you're the one who's going to be stuck in the cold of space, constantly watched by billions of us back home. I'll be sunning it up in Hawaii--"

John reaches forward across the couch and grabs his shirt, pulling him closer and Frank drops his hands onto the back of the couch to stop himself from falling forward. "No, you won't," John says. "You'll be sitting in Mission Control watching every step I take, thinking about how it would be better if you were there too." John leans in to whisper in his ear, "You will be too worried about me."

Frank turns his head to look at John because this is the closest it's ever gotten to putting this thing into words, for either of them to admit that it is something instead of random fumbling in storage rooms and motel rooms when they just need to get off. He leans in to kiss the smug look on John's face away, rough, because that's the way they are and for a second the kiss is tender too. He pulls away and leans his forehead against John's, his fingers holding John's neck, his thumb holding John's chin in place. Frank closes his eyes, this can't be real, he thinks.

He opens his eyes again and John's still there, leaning into his space, "So, are we going to celebrate?" Frank asks.

"Sure," John says, "I've got a few ideas."

"Really?" Frank asks, "do any of them involve fucking you on the couch or do you want to move this to the bedroom?" He runs his fingers down to John's chest, under the kimono, letting it fall open as John leans into his touch. He's bare beneath it.

"Here." John replies and takes a step back, grabbing his hand and pulling fast. They both laugh as Frank bumps into the couch.

"Maybe I should, uh," Frank gestures, pointing in a curve to show himself walking around the couch instead of through it.

John lets go of his hand and Frank sidles around reaching for his tie and loosening it. John's there -- as Frank pulls the tie over his head -- unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off his shoulders. They get tangled, hands trying to pull different pieces of clothing off at the same time. John lets go of the shirt and starts working Frank's belt open, unbuttoning his pants and then skimming them, and his boxers, down his hips. Frank throws his shirt and his tie onto the floor and then toes off his shoes. Frank's nearly naked when he reaches for the kimono and pushes it off John's skin, pooling in silk at the floor.

Frank pushes John back onto the red couch they had bought just in time for John's housewarming party. John had hinted, when he was looking for somewhere more permanent to live, when they had just gotten back from their tour on the space station, that he was looking for something big enough for both of them. He had couched it in the idea of not wanting to live alone after all that time in close confines but Frank had known that it would be only the first step. His divorced parents, his own divorce, and their work: Frank wasn't sure that he could do it. So he went furniture shopping with John and kept his own apartment, his own life and didn't take that next step. Now with Mars on the horizon, with their different paths there, Frank is glad he has kept something of himself.

Right now he has John spread back against the couch, leaning up on his elbows, lean body resting, waiting for him. Frank stops for a second to take it all in. In moments like these, when the two of them get together; when he pretends that it's just heated passion, or an expression of their friendship and the trust they share; when he ignores the rest of the world, and Mars too. In moments like these Frank lets himself take all of what John offers.

He steps over John so that he can kneel with his legs on either side. The couch is just wide enough for both of them like this. John's hands reach up to Frank's hips, his thumbs dig in. John's patient though, and sometimes Frank thinks that he can really read his mind. They lean into each other and they're kissing and it's hot and there is nothing else in the universe at this moment.

John pushes at him and they shift so that they're lying side by side on the couch, their legs are folded into each other and the pressure against his cock, against his skin, feels fantastic. Frank pulls out of the kiss, "What do you want, John?" His fingers trace through the hair trailing down John's chest. "We're supposed to be celebrating getting our way." He leans forward to whisper: "You're going to be the first person on Mars."

John grins and looks proud of himself for a second and then he goes quiet, like he knows this moment is changing everything too. "You," he says. Frank touches John's face, pushing back a strand of hair, trying not to hear everything that's being said, and John continues, pushing the thought away, "I want you to fuck me." He laughs, "that really was my plan to celebrate, maybe later I'll do you, but right now, I want you to fuck me."

John lies back on the couch, pulling Frank on top of him and then reaches down to the floor, scooting his fingers around until he grabs something. "Uh huh," John says as he lifts it up and holds the lube and condom out, "helps to have a plan, right?" Frank grins as he takes them out of his hand and pours some of the lube onto his palm. He waits a second to let it take some heat from his skin and then he shifts his body so that both of their cocks, hard now, are lined up. He reaches down and grips them both.

It's a slow grind, their hips coming together to match the pattern of his hand and his mouth, slowly kissing John's. He brings his other hand around, smothering it in the lube, and John is just lying there, kissing him and holding him in place, while Frank takes what he wants.

Frank uses his knee to move John's legs apart, to spread him wide so that they can both get what they want. He brings his other hand down, wet with slick, and gently presses in. He's building up a rhythm, waiting for John's groan, the moment when it's more than soft pleasure, and when he gets it, a muffled "fuck" against his shoulder, he leaves his fingers there for a moment. He bites gently at John's shoulder and covers his hard cock with the condom and shifts around so that he can push John's legs up, his hips off the couch. He thrusts his fingers a few more times and then he leans forward and replaces fingers with cock, pushing gently at first and then firmly, into John's body.

There's another groan, John's hands are gripping the couch and he's biting at his wet lips. They both move then, into each other, hard and fast, hands touching where they can, lips hitting each other's skin, teeth nipping and groans mixing together. Frank's just about to come, about to explode, and he reaches down to hold John's cock, to let John thrust and so that he can feel the results of their pleasure on his skin. He pushes forward and comes hard, holding for a second before he feels John whimper and moan below him and he pulls back out and falls onto John's shoulder. John brings his hand up around his back to hold him close, to let him catch his breath.

John kisses his forehead and rubs the back of his neck. Frank rolls over to face him, to memorise this moment, the way that sweat sticks John's hair to his skin, the lazy languid look on his face, the way his muscles are relaxed.

"You're next though," John says quietly. "When they take us all there, you'll be the one in charge. I'll leave you something to find when I get there, okay?"

Frank doesn't say anything for a moment, listening to the silences in what John's saying and rolls back to look up at the ceiling, to Mars beyond that, and says, "I'll look for it."