(Big thanks to the amazing Muriel!)
Serenity sings in endless midnight, catching starlight and throwing it back twice as fast. Listening, Brittany readies the ship for sleep shift: course calculated, autopilot activated, engines engaged.
Brittany gazes out into streaking nothingness. She wishes she could feel the starlight on her skin when they’re taking the back trails, port-hopping faster than light, but she senses the music of the spheres and together with Serenity becomes one with it.
Santana is likely sleeping by now. It’s okay, she usually rouses when her wife joins her in their bunk.
Bunking together again, after such a long time apart, now that’s worth joining a band of pirates. Pirates or ninjas? Sometimes one thing, sometimes the other. Sometimes both. This time around though, she prefers to be in the yoke, flashing through the infinite with Serenity.
In a way, Santana seems envious of Serenity. It’s silly, Brittany knows she’s a ship—it’s not like she’s a woman—but she has an intense connection to this beautiful hunk of junk that responds fast as thought, elegant as dance. She tells Santana not to be silly, but Santana senses rightly that part of Brittany’s heart is Serenity’s. Certainly, though, Santana has the rest.
Always the warrior, hunter, defender, Santana’s eyes pop open when Brittany enters their cabin. Strength coupled with intuition, awareness faster than light, Santana streaks toward her.
Their lips meet with infinitesimal pressure, then remain, the moment suspended, as passion takes the reins.
Brittany and Santana hum, Serenity hums, the riders and the ridden, working in concert among the stars to be one.