The Magic Spoon

I.
Soldiers understood.
Deck crew, CIC, sometimes even pilots just didn’t get it.  But a (fellow) soldier always understood how it was after an engagement.  The adrenaline out of control, spurring an insanity of need, tension, desperation…
Lt. M.Z. Denov (Senior grade) had a Marine she saw.  He wasn’t the prettiest to look at.  Certainly not the smartest.  But he frakked so hard it hurt and isn’t that what mattered?

II.

“Whore” he grunted one night, his callused fingers pressing bruises into her hips.  She stiffened.
“Don’t call me that.”  a pause.  The truth was that his little burbles of vitriol were charming.  ”Somethin’ else.”  she finally demanded.  Call me something else.
He lifted his head, thumping it on the top of her rack  ”What dirty name y’want?”  What a good dog, she thought, he didn’t miss a beat this time.   Den let her head fall back and her fingers dig into his back.
“Petty Officer, First Class.”

“You smell like…”  his nose was pressed into the crease where her hip met thigh, and she bit her lip – hard – to stifle a giggle.  It tickled.
“I smell like yer mama’s perfume.”  Her voice was harsh with stolen cigarettes, but he looked up with awe and thought it beautiful.  ”You didn’t!”  But he took a long whiff and there it was, that cloying scent of orchids and baby powder.  He looked over at the dresser where the bottle sat – not as dusty as it usually was.  The sheer insanity of the day made him want to….
“I did.  And y’know what else?”  Her hand edged down, lifting up her shirt for him to see.  And he didn’t know who would have done it, there was no way she looked eighteen.
“You didn’t”  he breathed, though the proof winked at him from her tummy-button, garish and gold and glittering.  She smiled at him, licking off a little of her bright pick lipstick.
“I did.  Can we do it now?”