Chapter Text
Shane Hollander sat alone at an airport hotel bar, nursing a beer he didn’t care for, and watching people laugh and drink and flirt. He had long shoved down a feeling that he was different in some way. Both the ease others had moving through social situations—he struggled to make up lines for a script everyone else seemed to have read—and the ease with which his friends picked up, slept with, and married women. It shouldn’t be that difficult, ‘I’m an astronaut’ usually played well at bars. It’s amazing anyone ever believed it. Maybe he was too picky. Maybe he hadn’t found the right one, like his best friend Hayden had, instantly, at eighteen years old enjoying his first Molson at a bar over summer break back in Ottawa. He’d spotted his future wife Jackie that night, and was locked in, forever.
It didn’t matter, and whatever made him odd couldn’t exist. Shane was the Canadian Space Agency’s most promising astronaut candidate, and he was good at what he did, so he wasn’t allowed to be something different. He’d spent every second of his twenty-five years laser-focused on being the best. Anything else was failure, and not an option. Besides, it wasn’t realistic to have someone at home when he wouldn’t even be home. He didn’t know how Hayden was going to do it, besides running off to FaceTime already, even though they’d just left his house two hours ago.
It was the last Saturday night before Shane and Hayden both belonged to the International Space Exploration Coordination Group’s lunar training program for, hopefully, the next three years. And even more years beyond that on missions. If he got selected, it could determine the next decade of his life. His whole adulthood so far had already been devoted wholly and singularly to training, studying, and working towards this goal. An antsy vibration lived under his skin at the possibility, at the enormity of it all. His thumb worked at the edge of the beer label, matching the restless churn of his thoughts. Movement caught the corner of his eye, and a stunning man slid into the booth across from him.
“You are here alone? Beer will not drink itself.” A thick accent, perhaps Russian, curled around the words. A strong hand waved in the direction of Shane’s nearly full bottle with the tattered label.
Shane froze. A short mop of loose honey-brown curls hovered around the man’s ears, and over a striking brow. Mischievous eyes danced. Shane couldn’t remember any words for the color. Twin gold flowers over green fields tracked Shane’s face. Broad shoulders strained the soft-looking fabric of a dark t-shirt, dropped in relaxed confidence, sure, despite invading someone else’s space. He sat there with a bold, self-possessed posture that Shane’s skeleton had never known how to hold. Even if his muscles had ever been that unbothered, he was sure he carried enough unease in his bones to ruin the effect.
The stranger tilted his head and quirked a brow, a question, while one side of his perfect mouth curled up. A dimple appeared, like a satellite locked in orbit with the mole on his cheek. Shane was still frozen, staring at the striking stranger. He needed to remember how his limbs worked. He needed to make his face move, make words appear. To say something. His mouth was full of saliva at the same time his throat felt too dry to let his voice through.
He swallowed, audibly. “No, my friend, he—uh, yes. I am. Here. Alone now.” Shane swallowed again. Despite Hayden’s cajoling to hang out tonight, he had abandoned Shane and gone upstairs to call his wife and their eighteen month old twins. They’d just moved to a new house in Toronto, closer to Jackie’s parents, since Hayden was going to be gone. For years. Shane of course had been there to help his friend, and say goodbye to Jackie and the girls himself. The next time he’d see them, they would not remember Uncle Shane.
“Mm, not so alone anymore.” Full lips curled against the bottle, taking a swig of beer.
“Sure,” Shane replied, licking his own bottom lip. Involuntarily. “Are you from Toronto?”
He felt a part of his own mind segment off, regarding the rest of himself with judgement. Why would anyone from Toronto be in hotel at the airport in Toronto. When did he become so stupid? Embarrassment made his shoulders feel heavy. He ripped his gaze away from the perfect cupid’s bow of the stranger’s half-smile, focusing on a knot in the wooden booth behind his ear.
“No, just tonight,” the stranger answered. “Are you? From Toronto?”
“No,” Shane shook his head, noting the decidedly un-Canadian way both T’s were pronounced. “Montreal. Early flight in the morning.”
“Oh yeah? Where?”
“Houston.”
“Ah. Houston. What makes Houston so lucky?” He gestured at Shane with his beer bottle. His hands seemed to never quite be still.
Shane felt a flush begin over his cheeks. “Work. I’m starting a training program.”
“Training. What are you training?” He seemed genuinely curious, but there was an air of mischief, teasing about the questions.
“I’m being trained, I guess.” He decided he didn’t need to watch the fawning or the skepticism roll across another’s face at the word ‘astronaut.’ He wasn’t supposed to be Shane Hollander, astronaut, tonight. Just, Shane Hollander, awkward. He was that every night, on any planet. “On.. leadership.” His ears felt warm.
“Mr. Leadership. Mr. Businessman.” The way his accent stalled when saying ‘mister’ was endearing.
Shane wanted to hear it again. Shane wanted to run away. “It’s not like that. Just job training. Why, what do you do?”
Muscles moved in a shrug. “I am engineer. I fix things.”
“Oh, like airplanes? That’s cool”.
“Something like that.” Full lips on the neck of a beer bottle.
Shane fidgeted. The stranger took another long drink of beer. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he sipped his beer and tried to not wince at the taste.
“So. Mr. Training. What is your name?” the man continued, as Shane watched his lips move.
“Shane. What’s yours?”
“Mm. You can call me Ilyusha.” He was holding his beer so close to Shane’s hand now that he could lift a finger away from the bottle and tap the back of Shane’s knuckles, sending electricity skittering up his arm.
“Ok, Ilyusha,” Shane asked, the name calling for shapes his tongue was not used to making. “What brings an engineer to Toronto, to sit in someone else’s booth?” The bar was lively, but there were still empty tables. Sitting here, next to Shane and all his nervousness was entirely optional.
“Maybe just enjoying view, yes?” Ilyusha asked, as his hazel eyes moved down and back up, dancing as they tracked the reaction Shane couldn’t keep from his face.
Shane felt his cheeks flush. He gulped more of his beer, and when he set his hand back down, he moved it a little closer, not quite touching. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, but he felt… intense.
Ilyusha chuckled. “Have you seen anything you like in Toronto, Shane?” The finger reached back across the tiny space. Not just a tap, this time, but a slow drag up and down Shane’s knuckles. A different kind of question. One he felt the answer to fizzing down his spine and into his groin.
“Not here,” Shane bit out, knowing he was turning even more red. Definitely not here, not in this public bar, that Hayden could be returning to at any minute. Maybe.
“Ok. So what’s your room number?” Ilyusha asked casually, easily.
“Fourteen ten?” Shane said, too quickly. “Why?”
“So if I knock on door of room 1410?” Ilyusha looked at his watch. “Around nine?”
Shane cleared his throat and stared at the stubble-covered chin in front of him; it was easier than looking into those glinting eyes. “I might open the door.”
The corner of Ilyusha’s mouth kicked up in a grin, mischievous. It seemed his everything was mischievous. “I might knock.”
“Okay,” Shane agreed.
“Okay,” Ilyusha winked.
They sat in silence a moment longer while Shane felt the blush crawl even further up his skull. Ilyusha tipped back the rest of his beer and looked at his watch again. “Better get going. I would not want to knock on door and have no one answer.”
Shane started, twisting his arm to look at his own watch. 8:47. He needed to find Hayden and close his tab. He needed to get out of this bar. Ilyusha stood up and smirked over his shoulder as he walked away. Shane jumped up and scanned the room. No Hayden. Weaving his way to the bar, he waved impatiently at the bartender. What was he doing? What was Ilyusha doing? What did Shane even want?
****
Shane’s never done this before. Well, he’s done parts of this. Not this, all together. He’s not picked someone up like this. If he’s being honest, so far Ilyusha has made all the moves and Shane just hasn’t… stopped any of it. So he’s never picked anyone up, or been picked up by someone like this before. He had never been this instantly, clearly aroused before. He’s not… a virgin. He’d been with a handful of women. It had just never been that good that he’d try to seek it out. It had never been something he felt he missed when it wasn’t there. He’d agree to go on a date when a friend knew a great girl they were sure he’d like. Conversation would be fun, for a while, especially if she was willing to lead it. He never made the first moves. He’d try to do what was expected, reciprocate, he didn’t want anyone to have a bad time. He’d try his best when they asked him for things in bed—he never really asked for anything himself.
Schedules had always been an issue—first university, then training, then work, mastering the multiple disciplines needed for mission commanders—eventually she’d call him one last time to say it wasn’t working, but she hoped he did well in his career, since it was so important to him. It felt like a judgment, like he was making the wrong choices every time, but he wanted to be an astronaut; he didn’t particularly see the point in having a girlfriend besides doing what everyone expected.
It’s 9:04 and he’d sat down in the chair in his hotel room, hands clasped between his knees, questioning everything he’s ever done in his life, including why he stayed at the bar when Hayden left. Why he said his room number so fast. Why he’s reacting this way. To a man. Why he didn’t stay in the bar and let his door go unanswered at 9pm. His door was currently going un-knocked so maybe he is freaking out over nothing.
He had paid his tab in a hurry, tipping the bartender generously, like he was already paying penance for mistakes yet to be made, for waving for his attention and shoving a credit card at him, like an impatient asshole tourist. He wasn’t an asshole. This wasn't how he behaved.
Shane had vibrated with nerves the whole elevator ride up. He’d had enough time to brush his teeth, hide his suitcase in the closet, and turn all the lamps on. And then turn two lamps off. What was the right amount of lamps for… whatever was about to happen?
Pacing over to look into the mirror, he considered changing his shirt, but he’d already been seen in it. Wouldn’t changing it now be weirder? It’s 9:07, and maybe Shane read the signals wrong. Heard the wrong time. Maybe the stranger at a bar was just fucking with him. This was ridiculous. When he showed, if he showed, Shane would just explain that there was a misunderstanding. That this wasn’t who he was. Maybe—
A knock on the door. Could a knock sound cocky, or was Shane imagining things? His mind was flooded with images of a raised eyebrow, a lip curled in a smirk, and sparkling hazel eyes. Hazel! A fully inadequate word. Shane cleared his throat and opened the door.
Ilyusha stood with his forearm pressed along the top of the door frame like he owned the place, and knew exactly how good he looked filling a doorway. The smirk was back. The dimple was back. The so-much-more than just ‘hazel’ eyes moved from Shane’s own, to his mouth, then back up. Shane’s logic was gone.
“Uh, Hi. Do you want to come in? I uh—“ he stammered, foolishly.
“I don’t want to stay in hall. Do you want me to come in?” An eyebrow arched up in question.
“Yeah. Yes. Come in. You can, uh, have a seat? The chair. I—“
Ilyusha moved into the room, gently guiding Shane backward. He felt the wall at his back at the same time he felt warm hands at his sides. The hotel door shut with a metallic catch.
“Do you want to talk?” Shane rushed out.
“Not really. Do you want to talk?” Warm breath puffed along Shane’s jaw as Ilyusha moved even closer, a gently nudging nose near his ear. “Or is there something you want more? Than to talk?”
Shane exhaled. “Yes. I want more.” He sounded so needy to his own ears. Embarrassing.
“Good.” A large hand cupped Shane’s chin. Gentle fingers caressed the hinge of his jaw, and angled Shane’s head. They were close in height, the expert movement aligning their mouths perfectly, and suddenly Ilyusha’s mischievous lips were kissing his. He tasted of beer and… was that cigarettes? It should be gross. It wasn’t.
Shane melted. He opened his mouth as a hot, gentle tongue played across his teeth. He curled his fingers into the fabric behind Ilyusha’s waist. His heart raced and his breath grew ragged as he was kissed like a fire burning out of control. Fingers explored at the hem of his shirt, working their way inside, finding his skin. Warm hands on his ribs, warm hands wrapping around his back, hot tongue in his mouth. Shane’s brain was turned entirely off, and his body, moving instinctually, was fully on. Their mouths finally separated for a moment, and their eyes locked, breathing heavily.
Ilyusha grinned his crooked smile again. “Yes? You want?”
“Yes.” He reached for the hem of Ilyusha’s shirt, and ran his hands up a stomach that was rigid muscle and soft brushes of hair. It felt like lightning.
Ilyusha pulled the shirt over his own head in one swift motion, then grabbed Shane by the hips, pulling their bodies together as their lips rejoined in hungry, open-mouth kisses. Shane’s hands roved over the expanse of Ilyusha’s back, smooth and soft but firm with muscle all at the same time. He let out a moan right into Ilyusha’s open mouth. Another tug on his hips and Shane felt his erection bump against and rub alongside the obvious ridge in the other man’s pants. It was possibly the hottest thing Shane had ever felt in his life, and he wanted more. He wanted it rubbing against him. He wanted to wrap his hand around it, to feel how it was different from his own. He wondered what it would taste like, how much he could he fit in his mouth.
Before even making the conscious decision, his hands were already moving to the other man’s waistband. Still frantically kissing, Shane’s fingers probed their way to Ilyusha’s fly, tugging at the button with impatience.
“Fuck,” Ilyusha moaned, as Shane’s hand found its goal, cupping the hard and surprisingly substantial bulge that he’d just freed. Only a thin layer of underwear was between his hand and the pulsing heat of another man’s dick, and he wanted more.
Ilyusha threaded one hand in the hair behind Shane’s head and used the other to expertly pop the button and slide down the zipper on Shane’s pants. As strong fingers cupped him, Shane gasped, and pushed his hips forward. Nothing had felt like this before and he was lost to chasing it.
“Yes, please. Ilyusha— I want to…” Shane’s words were breathless, as he pushed the other man back, away from the wall so that he could drop to his knees. He pulled down at Ilyusha’s pants, underwear and denim together sliding just past hips, just enough until his cock sprang free, inches from Shane’s face. His breathing was heavy, winded in a way that would set off alarms in a flight suit. Could Ilyusha feel his breath? He wondered if all dicks looked this fucking good. He wasn’t an expert. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever really seen anyone else’s fully hard dick before. Definitely not this close up. The dicks in porn probably weren’t really real. Or they were special, professional dicks that civilians would never encounter.
“Fuck,” Ilyusha breathed a drawn out swear above him. Shane looked up to see intense hazel eyes regarding him with a lot of heat, and maybe some disbelief.
Shane didn’t know what he was doing, but he figured he was past the point of no return. He wanted to know what it would taste like, feel like. If he was bad at this, he’d never have to see this random man from an airport ever again. It couldn’t be too terrible to have someone’s eager mouth on you, right? Ok, yes it could. He’d had bad blowjobs. Shane had three degrees. He owned a dick. He could figure this out. Should he lick it like a lollipop?
He’d just been kneeling there, too still for too long, making things weird. So he opened his mouth and moved it onto Ilyusha’s cock. It was… bigger than he’d expected. His lip caught a little as it moved over the ridge on the head, the awkward meeting of skin and inexperience. Ilyusha grunted, not a no, just a little warning. He pulled his head back and licked around the head, using his wet tongue to fix his mistakes. The next sound Ilyusha made was just pleasure.
Shane redoubled his efforts, sliding his whole mouth over the head of Ilyusha’s cock, a lot more saliva easing the way. It tasted like skin, and a little salt, and a little bit like something Shane had never had to name before. He couldn’t go very far before dick hit the back of his tongue and he had to bob up again, his lips stretching over the flared head each time he pulled back. It felt like both delicate skin and unyielding hardness. He tried curling his tongue along the head as he moved down deep, desperately trying not to gag and hoping it was working for the man in front of him, because it was working for Shane, and it would be mortifying to be awful at something he’d just learned he’d wanted to be good at this badly.
“Shane. Wait. Stop.” He felt a gentle hand brush behind one ear, as Ilyusha took a half step backward.
Shane closed his eyes and tried to steel himself for disappointment.
“You have not done this before, no?” Ilyusha asked, gently, not mad.
“No,” Shane admitted. “Was it bad?”
“No. No, not bad.” For the first time, Ilyusha seemed slightly flustered, breathing hard. “No need to rush. We can get out of doorway.” His fingers moved along Shane’s shoulder as he spoke.
“Ok.” Shane stood up. “Have you done this before?”
“Yes. Before. Let’s say, fellow engineer.” He lifted one shoulder a little, in a shrug.
“Do a lot of engineers… do this?” Shane wondered if he does this.
“No, not so many. Not always good career choice.” Ilyusha kissed him again, gently, not seeming to mind where Shane’s lips had just been. “Come, Mr. Training. I can show you how.”
Ilyusha started walking forward, and even though his pants were still halfway around his thighs, he pulled them off gracefully before landing heavily on the bed. Now he was sitting, fully naked, fully breathtaking, and Shane was staring from the room’s entryway. After a beat, he moved until he was within reach again. This intermission had reminded him that he still was piloting his body, and had to decide what to do with it when he had no prior script to follow.
“Tch,” Ilyusha clicked his tongue. “Too many clothes.” He tugged at the sleeve of Shane’s shirt.
Dutifully, Shane pulled off his shirt, then his pants, gently folding and stacking them on the desk. He turned to find that Ilyusha’s crooked smile had spread to a full grin that lit up his whole face.
“What?” Shane asked. He felt so out of his depth.
“Nothing. We both learn new thing tonight.” Ilyusha hooked his fingers in the waistband of Shane’s boxer briefs and pulled them down, making pointed eye contact the whole way, then pulled Shane closer by his hips. Closer and closer, big strong hands kept guiding him forward, even as Shane’s legs hit the bed, and he had to kneel up on it, straddling over Ilyusha’s lap. Shane rested his hands on broad shoulders and marveled at all the points of contact, the view as he looked down the expanse of muscled chest, and how close their straining cocks were to touching. Suddenly, Shane found himself being flipped over, his back on the bed, with Ilyusha on his hands and knees over Shane’s body.
“Fuck.” Shane was grinning even as he swore, then warm lips and a wicked tongue claimed his mouth. He swore again as Ilyusha’s open mouthed kisses trailed down his chest, flicked over a nipple, and moved down his stomach. Shane felt like his pulse was going to burst out of his dick, as the other man continued to kiss around his thighs, his hips, his navel, everywhere except where he wanted him most. A hot breath gusted over his sensitive skin, and he saw those hazel eyes lock on his own. Ilyusha licked a broad flat tongue up from the base of Shane’s cock, curling around the head, until his hot mouth descended over Shane’s length, taking nearly all of him in and moaning around him in approval. Stars burst across his vision, and he barely stopped himself from bucking his hips up wildly, hands grasping at the bedsheets and back arching, his own shouts ringing in his ears. There was no way he was going to last long like this.
Ilyusha continued to move, his head bobbing and his devilish tongue flicking in just the right places at the top of his strokes. Shane tried to think of g-force training, lab safety protocols, the way base layers smelled after long days in flight suits, anything that would let him hold out a little longer. He was sure the sounds he was making had stopped being words the moment Ilyusha’s tongue had first touched him, but his orgasm was about to happen, very fast, and he needed to give a warning.
“Ohgod—Ily—I’m gon—“ Shane garbled out while he tried to tap the other man wherever he could reach, his fingers grabbing golden curls as he came harder than he’d ever thought possible.
“Mmm,” Ilyusha moaned, his mouth still around Shane’s cock, sucking all the way until he popped off the end, then swallowing dramatically.
“Oh,” Shane panted, still catching his breath. “You—I’m sorry. You didn’t have to. I wanted to warn you. I—“
“No, is good. I don’t mind. You came fast, yes?” That smirk again.
“Shut up!” Shane let out an annoyed sigh, closing his eyes and feeling defensive. “It’s just been a while ok?”
“Mm. Is not a problem. I like when people know how good I am.” Ilyusha grinned like a shark, and Shane found it intoxicating.
“Wow. Arrogant much?” Shane teased, and rolled his eyes. They landed back on Ilyusha’s face after a slow orbit around his naked body, stretched across the bed.
“Not arrogant if is true.” Another confident shrug.
Shane eyes moved back down to Ilyusha’s still very hard, very perfect dick. It felt like he could probably remember how to move again, so he sat up, leaning closer to the insanely hot man who had just appeared out of nowhere to blow Shane’s mind. And dick.
“Can I try again?” he asked.
“You want to suck my dick some more? Ok. Show me what you learn.” Ilyusha turned to lay flat on his back, the dick in question bobbing above his stomach, a drop of pre-cum catching the light.
Shane crawled over to him, squaring up to the challenge. He had always been willing to work hard to be excellent at everything placed before him, and he would give no less effort here. He tried to run back in his mind exactly what it was that Ilyusha had done to him mere minutes ago, but Shane’s brain hadn’t exactly been in charge, and trying to distract himself from coming in three seconds flat meant he wasn’t cataloging everything like he normally would. He did remember that first swipe of tongue, though. He was probably going to take that memory to the moon and back, and to his deathbed in, hopefully, sixty years. So Shane bent his head down, flattened his tongue, and licked.
Ilyusha’s groan of approval was like a damn bursting inside of Shane. He dove in, bobbing, the broad head of another man’s cock bumping against the back of his throat. He still couldn’t go very far down, he had no idea how Ilyusha had done it, so he used his hand to make up the difference, and focused on flicking his tongue. He was so narrowed down to the hot skin in his mouth, the wetness of his own saliva coating his hand, trying to hollow his cheeks, that Shane was surprised when his head was suddenly pulled up and off, his mouth making an unflattering wet sound as suction was broken. He looked up, shocked and concerned, just in time to see the full symphony of pleasure ripple across Ilyusha’s face, a moan parting those perfect lips as he fisted his cock and came.
Shane couldn’t do anything but stare in wonder for a moment, at how beautiful Ilyusha had looked lost in pleasure, and in amazement that he had been able to cause such a thing.
Ilyusha groaned, saying a few words that Shane couldn’t make out, and flopping his head down on the mattress with one arm draped over his eyes. “You pass class.”
“Really?” Shane asked. “It was good?”
“Yes, obviously.” His hand gestured loosely at his spent cock. “I give B minus.”
“B minus?!” Shane repeated, incredulous. Tapping Ilyusha’s thigh with the back of his hand. “You liked it!” Shane was still leaning over him, propped on one elbow, and Ilyusha was looking boneless.
“Yes.” Ilyusha dropped his arm, and looked at Shane again. “I did.” This smile was slower, less sly. Hazel eyes tracked slightly, making him look like he was trying to decide where a puzzle piece goes.
They stayed there, quietly looking at each other a bit longer, just listening as breaths finally slowed down to a normal pace. It was a lot more eye contact and silence than Shane could tolerate with most people, but it didn’t feel awkward at all. None of the usual anxiety buzzed at the back of his mind, it just felt… nice.
Ilyusha suddenly sat up. “Ok. Well. Flight tomorrow. I should go.”
“Yeah. Right. Of course,” Shane agreed. Neither moved for another moment.
Slapping both hands on his thighs, Ilyusha stood, and quickly collected his scattered clothing. It felt like a blink of an eye before Ilyusha paused by the door. Shane was still naked, on the bed.
“Goodnight.” The accent seemed thicker, Ilyusha’s voice deeper.
“Goodnight.” Shane wanted to say something. Wanted there to be something else. But what else was there? Ilyusha had turned and left.
Shane laid there, diagonal across the bed, his feet hanging into space. Alone in his room, the weight of everything that just happened rushed back in to busy his mind. What had he done? Why did it feel so different? It felt like warmth in his veins; it felt like weight on his chest. He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, and waited for his mind to arrange into better answers.
****
Shane and Hayden were among the first dozen candidates waiting in an auditorium in Houston, Texas. Today was the first day of orientation for the training and selection program that would determine who would be part of the international cooperative mission to establish the first permanently-manned base on the moon. It was August, and even though it was still before eight in the morning, the air conditioners were already running, setting a steady hum against his anxiety.
He could tell by Hayden’s unusual silence that being apart from his family was weighing on him. Shane had met Hayden at age twelve, on their first day at a space academy near Shane’s hometown of Ottawa, and they became instant friends. That was just how Hayden collected people. Shane knew him better than he knew anyone else in the universe; better than his parents, probably better than he knew himself, if he was being honest. In return, Hayden understood Shane more than anyone else, sometimes even seeing the things that he’d struggle to voice. So Hayden had followed Shane without complaint as he’d strategized the best place to sit. He selected a spot in the first third of the room. Not too close to be in the front row; showing up this early was already a little too eager. Not too far to the back, like they weren’t fully committed to being here. Not on the edges of the room, but off-center, with a good clear view of the screen at the front. Hayden never took things as seriously as Shane did, didn’t think through paths and backup plans and contingencies the same way, but he almost never gave Shane any crap about it. Hayden gave him someone to stick to in social situations, bringing him along, filling quiet moments, or reading when Shane wanted to be rescued from small talk.
Hayden was on his phone now, texting, probably Jackie again. As other people slowly filtered in, Shane’s mind wandered. His thoughts have been on a bit of a loop since Toronto. After Ilyusha left, he’d laid there on the bed, one half drifting in contentment, and one half spiraling out of control, until he became aware of his phone buzzing repeatedly with an incoming phone call. It was Hayden, having returned to the bar to find Shane gone, then texting him multiple times with no answer. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time Hayden had tried calling Shane, and he hadn’t even noticed. When he finally answered, Hayden was halfway to a freakout. Shane made his excuses: that he was just tired, he’d just gone to his room for a nap and was asleep, no really I’m fine, bud. We have an early flight, I’ll see you downstairs in the morning.
Shane needed to focus on this orientation. He needed to focus on his career, and his skills, and his training, and on anything except a pair of mischievous hazel eyes and what felt like the single most amazing experience he’d had in his whole life. And he’d been to the edge of space! He wasn’t sure what it meant about himself, or who he was, and it felt like an amber status alert was going off if he thought about it too much. He’d never really been that interested in women. He hadn’t been interested in men before either. Was it gay to enjoy sucking a dick that much? It seemed pretty gay, and Shane didn’t have time to be gay, or to spiral about a random hookup, or be anything that would give the selection committee any doubts.
“You ok, bud?” Hayden asked, quietly, but it startled Shane back to the present.
“Yeah, I’m good,” he deflected. “Why?”
Hayden’s only answer was a pointed look at Shane’s hand, where it fidgeted with the name tag clipped to his shirt pocket. ’S. Hollander - Canadian Space Agency.’ Hayden had a matching ‘H. Pike’ on his own chest, but it wasn’t being worried by restless fingers.
Agencies from around the world were sending their candidates for this mission. NASA from the United States, and Roscosmos from Russia were the two heavyweight members of the International Space Exploration Coordination Group, or ISECG for short, and nearly half of the candidates would be from one or the other. More groups from across Europe, Asia, and Shane’s own Canada were taking part, and he was endlessly proud of what his country had contributed to research and aeronautics. Although frequently lumped in with NASA, Canada was responsible for the iconic Canadarm on the space shuttle program, sensors for the JWST, and their participation in the Artemis missions that served as foundation for this program meant no one could question that the CSA had earned its place. And Shane would earn his.
By now, the room was nearly full. They’d be starting today with a couple hundred candidates. Besides Hayden, there were a few others Shane already knew—some were colleagues from the CSA or NASA, others were top candidates from other agencies whose names Shane knew by reputation alone. Liu Chun from China was likely to be some serious competition for command positions. They had nodded at each other as she walked up the main aisle to claim a seat higher up. Rose Landry had gotten a lot of media attention in the US, both for her childhood acting career, and for her groundbreaking research in graphene structures for low-gravity environments. He was possibly a little bit star-struck by her. Francisco Silva from Brazil was among the handful of South American candidates, and was a genius with technology, and had developed one of the algorithms for early detection of imbalances in the environmental control systems.
He knew the least about the Russian contingent, as they did not collaborate as often with other agencies, and kept information close. But recent progress and access to the ISS was impossible without them. A couple names were said often enough for him to remember: Andropov, Navratilova, Rozanov, Vasilev, Vetrova. He wasn’t even sure they’d all be sent here as candidates.
Even though the common language of all the agencies was English, and fluency was required for crew of joint missions, the Russians were known to thumb their noses at this rule and speak in their own language as much as they could. Shane had seen Vasilev at a conference in the spring, and tried to say hello. He’d only responded in Russian.
It was almost time to begin. A group of staff huddled near the speaker’s desk, more than a dozen. The assembled collection of administrators, professors, leading researchers, former astronauts, and experts would be deciding the fates of everyone in the hall. At staged points across the next year, 200 would become 120, then 60, then 30. And of those only six would launch the first mission. Only six would be the first to live on the moon.
Shane felt it as a flush of excitement. It made him nervous, but it also filled him with energy and purpose. It was a challenge he was ready to accept with everything he had. A glance at his watch. Start time was in just two minutes. Astronauts were precise and punctual. The group in the hall now would be his colleagues and competitors for missions slots for the next year. He sat up in his seat, straightening his shoulders. He was ready. He was good. He was very good. Nothing was coming between him and his goals.
Loud voices sounded in the hall. Shane’s perfect, Goldilocks seat positioning had put them close to a side door. He turned his head just in time to see it fling open to a tall, broad man, the name badge on his chest proclaiming ‘I. Rozanov - Roscosmos.’ But he also wore the crooked grin that Shane hadn’t been able to get out of his mind.
Ilyusha.