Chapter 26: Breakfast Break
The scent of freshly brewed coffee and frying bacon hung over the Grand Salon’s breakfast buffet, a promise of normalcy the group clung to like a life raft. Mara, her damp hair tied in a severe bun and wearing a crisp linen shirt, sat beside Zack, who still moved with a slight stiffness from the previous night’s brawl with her robotic double. Around the large, round table, the others were assembled: Stacy, radiating vitality in athletic wear; Hank and Fatima, Hank with an easy arm slung over Fatima’s chair; Mike and Casey, with Rick drowsing in a carrier against Mike’s chest; Rebecca and Charley, holding hands under the table; Ginny and Molly, leaning into each other; and Liam and Bethany, Bethany’s pink spikes a defiant splash of color against the ship’s muted elegance.
“I just want a single, solitary meal,” Mara announced, her voice a low, weary command. “No magic, no conspiracies, no doppelgangers trying to throw my boyfriend overboard. Just eggs. Is that too much to ask?”
“We’re with you, Counselor,” Stacy said, raising a glass of orange juice. “A quiet breakfast. Let’s manifest it.”
For five blessed minutes, they had it. Plates were filled, coffee was poured, and conversations splintered into manageable, mundane pockets. Hank was discussing engine sounds with Zack, Casey was sketching the fruit arrangement on a napkin, and Bethany was explaining the thermodynamics of Golden Wand tech to a politely confused Liam.
Then Mara’s fork, laden with a perfect strip of crispy bacon, was halfway to her mouth when a blur of grayish-green skin shot across the polished tabletop. A six-inch creature with bat-like ears and needle-sharp teeth snatched the bacon from her fork with a triumphant squeak and vanished behind a tower of pastries.
Mara’s coffee cup clattered against its saucer.
Jan, who had been stirring her tea, was already half out of her seat, a faint green shimmer gathering at her fingertips. Mara’s hand shot out, clamping around Jan’s wrist with surprising force.
“Let it go,” Mara sighed, the words thick with exhausted resignation. She rubbed her temples with her free hand. “Just… let me have one fucking meal where I’m not assaulted by interdimensional chaos.”
They all watched, frozen, as the gremlin reappeared at the edge of the juice dispenser. It was joined by two others. One, slightly larger, was dragging a miniature pancake. The third clutched a stolen pat of butter. With chittering coordination, they began stacking the pancake on two strips of bacon, wedging the butter between them, constructing a small, lopsided fort.
Rick, peering from his carrier, let out a gurgle of pure, unadulterated delight.
Casey nudged Mike. “That’s actually kind of impressive.”
“They’ve got a sense of humor,” Mike agreed, nodding thoughtfully.
Fatima muttered something in Arabic under her breath, a prayer or a curse, Jan wasn’t sure. Jan slowly sank back into her chair, the magic at her fingers dissolving. She watched Mara’s face, the tight set of her jaw, the deep breath she took before picking up her fork again and stabbing a piece of cantaloupe as if it had personally offended her.
The breakfast continued, punctuated by the occasional squeak or rustle from behind the juice machine. It was a tense, weird peace.
Later, after Zack had clumsily bumped his hip on the table for the third time and winced, Mara stood. “Alright, that’s my cue. I’m taking my trashed boyfriend back to our stateroom to convalesce.” She helped Zack to his feet. “The rest of you… try not to start a war with any breakfast pastries.”
They watched her guide Zack away, his arm slung over her shoulders. A heavy silence fell over the table, broken only by the giggles of the gremlins.
“She’s mad at me,” Jan said quietly, staring into her tea.
“She’s not mad,” Stacy corrected, reaching over to squeeze Jan’s hand. “She’s frayed. There’s a difference. You wanted this trip to be relaxing for her, and it’s been… a lot.”
“A lot of shit,” Jan amended.
“Yeah, well, you know Mara,” Stacy said, leaning back. “She hates chaos, but she loves making chaos orderly again. She got to litigate against a robot version of herself and win. That’s a good vacation for her. But even a good lawyer needs a recess.”
Hank cleared his throat, clearly wanting to steer into sunnier waters. “So, anyone up for burning off some of these calories? I saw they’ve got a half-court set up on the recreation deck. Pick-up game? Liam? Charley? Stace, you in?”
Charley adjusted his glasses, a shy smile appearing. “I’m… not very coordinated.”
“Perfect,” Hank grinned. “Neither is Mike.”
“Hey!” Mike protested mildly, jostling Rick, who squeaked.
“It’s true, honey,” Casey said, patting his arm affectionately. “You’re many wonderful things. An athlete is not one of them.”
Stacy cracked her knuckles. “I’m in. Need to work out the kinks from yesterday.”
Liam nodded. “Aye, a bit of sport sounds grand.”
Mike looked from Hank’s encouraging face to Casey’s amused one. “Oh, alright. But I’m on Hank’s team. He’s the only one who passes to me.”
As the basketball contingent began planning, Jan turned to Fatima. “Maybe I should look into excursions. Something… non-magical. A spa day for Mara.”
Fatima gave her a look that was both fond and exasperated. “Jan, we are in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The only excursion is ‘staring at the water.’ And given our luck, the water would probably stare back.”
Jan sighed, defeated. She watched the gremlins peeking from their bacon fort, their large, dark eyes watching the humans. With a soft whisper and a subtle flick of her fingers under the table, she wove a simple, benign compulsion into the air around them—a gentle suggestion to take their construction project elsewhere. The three little creatures snatched up their edible fortress and scurried away, leaving behind only a greasy smear and a faint, dissipating scent of ozone and maple syrup.
She stood. “I’m going to… patrol. Gently. See if I can spot any more gremlins. Or Dale. Someone should check on him.” Vivian had stayed in her stateroom with Dale, who was still recovering from Hornpipe’s tech-purge.
Stacy gave her a reassuring nod. “We’ve got Rick-duty,” she said, indicating herself, Casey, and Mike. Polluck, who had been lurking under a neighboring chair, gave a low mrrow of agreement, as if confirming the baby’s security detail.
As the group dispersed, Jan wandered out of the Grand Salon, her mind a whirlwind of good intentions and perceived failures.
Back in the expansive, sunlit stateroom, Mara closed the door with her foot, the solid thud a barrier against the world. Zack was already shrugging off his light jacket, his movements still stiff.
“You don’t have to baby me,” he said, but the wince as he rotated his shoulder betrayed him.
“Shut up,” Mara said, her voice losing its courtroom edge, softening into something private. “Lie down.”
She didn’t mean on the bed. She guided him to the plush carpet in the center of the room, where the morning sun streamed in through the porthole, painting a bright, warm rectangle on the floor. She pushed him down gently until he was lying on his back, looking up at her with a mixture of pain and adoration.
“Just relax,” she murmured, kneeling beside him. Her fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, working them open with practiced efficiency. She pushed the fabric aside, revealing the dark, angry bruises that spread across his ribs and pectorals like storm clouds.
Her breath hitched. The sight of him hurt, really hurt, because of something as absurd as a robot shaped like her, sent a fresh bolt of fury through her system. But fury had no place here. Not now.
She leaned down, her lips finding the unbruised skin of his throat, then his collarbone. She kissed him there, slowly, deliberately. Her hands slid down his chest, avoiding the worst of the discoloration, tracing the line of hair leading below his belt.
“Mara,” he breathed, his hands coming up to cradle her face. “You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to,” she interrupted, her voice a low hum against his skin. “I want to. I need to feel you. Alive. Here. Not out there fighting my fucking clones.”
Her kiss was hungry then, desperate, her tongue pushing into his mouth. It was a claim, an affirmation. He responded in kind, his pain forgotten for a moment, his hands tangling in her hair, pulling her down on top of him. The friction of their clothed bodies was a sudden, welcome burn.
She broke the kiss, sitting up to straddle his hips. Her own shirt came off next, tossed aside without ceremony. Her bra followed. The sun warmed her skin as she looked down at him, at the awe etched on his face. “See?” she said, a ghost of her usual smirk playing on her lips. “All in one piece.”
“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his hands settling on her waist, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there.
Her smirk turned wicked. She shifted her weight, grinding her jean-clad center against the hard ridge of his erection straining against his pants. He groaned, his head falling back against the carpet.
“God, you’re gorgeous when you’re all beat up,” she purred, leaning forward to nip at his earlobe. “Helpless. Mine.”
“Yours,” he agreed, the word a ragged sigh.
She made quick work of his belt and zipper, pulling his pants and boxers down just enough to free him. His cock sprang up, hard and flushed, a bead of moisture already glistening at the tip. Mara watched it for a second, her own core clenching with wet, hot need. Then she stood up, shucking her jeans and underwear in one fluid motion.
Kneeling again, she didn’t take him in her mouth, though the thought crossed her mind. Instead, she positioned herself above him, one hand guiding him, the other braced on his chest. She looked into his eyes, holding his gaze as she slowly, inch by exquisite inch, sank down onto his length.
A sharp, hissing breath escaped Zack. His hands flew to her hips, fingers digging in. “Fuck… Mara…”
“Uh-huh,” she managed, the feeling of him stretching her, filling her, driving every coherent thought from her mind for a second. She paused when he was fully sheathed, letting her body adjust, reveling in the tight, deep ache. Then she began to move.
It wasn’t gentle. It was a frantic, pounding rhythm born of delayed fear and pent-up frustration. She rose up until only the tip of him remained inside her, then slammed back down, taking him all the way. The sounds were obscene: the wet slap of skin on skin, their combined ragged breathing, her own choked-off moans.
“Harder,” Zack grunted, his hips pushing up to meet her downward strokes. “Don’t… don’t hold back.”
She didn’t. She rode him like she was trying to exorcise something, her head thrown back, breasts bouncing with the force of it. One of her hands snaked between their bodies, fingers finding her clit, rubbing fast, rough circles.
“That’s it,” Zack gasped, his grip on her hips tightening. “Just like that. You feel so fucking good. So tight.”
The crude praise, so unlike his usual earnestness, sent a new shock of pleasure through her. Her movements became more erratic, less controlled. The coil in her abdomen wound tight, tighter. She was a mess of sensation: the deep, brutal fullness of him, the sharp spark from her clit, the sun on her back, the smell of sex and clean carpet.
“I’m gonna come,” she warned, her voice a shattered thing.
“Come on my cock,” he growled, his own control fraying. “Do it.”
It hit her like a tidal wave, a crushing, white-hot release that tore a raw, screaming cry from her throat. Her body clamped around him, milking him as she convulsed.
The feel of her pulsing around him was enough. Zack’s back arched off the floor, a choked shout ripped from his lungs as he emptied himself deep inside her, his own release drawn out and wracked by her continuing contractions.
For a long moment, they stayed locked together, panting, sweating in the sunbeam. Mara collapsed forward, her sweat-slicked torso pressing against his bruised one. He flinched but held her tight.
“Sorry,” she mumbled into his shoulder.
“Don’t be,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Worth it.”
They lay there, entangled on the floor, the ocean a steady, quiet rhythm against the hull below. Mara closed her eyes. For the first time in days, the chaotic noise in her head had quieted, replaced by a sated, physical hum. Maybe this, right here, was the only excursion she needed.
On the recreation deck, the basketball game was a study in contrasts. Stacy moved with a predator’s grace, stealing the ball from Hank with ease and driving for a layup. Liam was surprisingly agile, his landscaping-built muscles serving him well. Charley was, as predicted, hopelessly awkward but laughed it off each time he fumbled.
Mike was, as Casey had warned, terrible. He tripped over his own feet, passed to the wrong team, and once managed to throw the ball directly into a potted palm tree. Hank just clapped him on the back. “Good effort, man!”
Casey sat on a bench nearby, rocking Rick’s carrier with her foot, a fond, amused smile on her face as she watched her husband. Polluck was curled at her feet, one eye slit open, watching the game with feline disdain.
Bethany and Fatima watched from the sidelines.
Bethany and Fatima watched from the sidelines, though their attention was divided. Bethany had produced a small, bronze device from her handbag that looked like an ornate compass. Its surface shimmered with a faint, internal light.
“Readings are… surprisingly clear,” Bethany murmured, her thumb scrolling a tiny, crystalline dial. “Residual energy from the Waterchild’s release, a faint succubus signature from Vivian’s stateroom, and the gremlin cluster we saw. That’s it.”
“No hidden Consortium operatives?” Fatima asked, her eyes scanning the other guests on the deck. A man in a panama hat reading a newspaper. A couple walking a small dog.
“The scanner isn’t calibrated for that. It finds magical anomalies, not ideological ones.” Bethany snapped the device shut. “If any are left, they’re just people now. Thanks to Jan and your memory-wipes.”
On the court, Stacy stole the ball from Liam with a lightning-fast move, her sneakers squeaking on the polished wood. She passed to Hank, who drove toward the basket. Mike, positioned under the net with the bewildered expression of a man waiting for a bus, flailed as the ball was passed to him.
“Shoot it, Mike!” Ginny yelled from her spot on a bench beside Rebecca and Molly.
Mike looked at the ball in his hands as if it were a strange artifact. He took a clumsy, off-balance shot. It bounced off the rim. Liam, with a grin, grabbed the rebound.
Casey, watching from her bench while gently bouncing Rick’s carrier, sighed. Then a mischievous glint lit her dark eyes. She stood up, setting the carrier down carefully. Without a word, she lifted the front of her loose tank top, flashing her bare breasts at the court.
Hank, in mid-dribble, stumbled. Charley’s jaw went slack. Liam, turning to see what had broken their concentration, took his eyes off Stacy for half a second. It was all the opening Mike needed. He snatched the ball from a distracted Liam and performed a comically awkward but successful layup. The ball dropped through the net.
“Yes!” Casey whooped, dropping her shirt and pumping a fist. Rebecca and Molly cheered. Ginny cackled.
“That’s cheating!” Liam protested, laughing.
“All’s fair,” Casey shot back, sitting down and picking up the carrier again. She blew Mike a kiss. “If your team wins, baby, I’ll do that thing you like in the stateroom later.”
Mike’s goofy grin widened. “Deal.”
Hank wiped his brow. “I don’t even know what ‘that thing’ is, but I’m guessing she was gonna do it anyway.”
Casey shrugged, her expression one of pure, unabashed agreement. “Probably.”
The game resumed, its intensity renewed by the promise. Stacy and Liam, now forewarned, redoubled their efforts, their athleticism making up for Hank’s straightforward plays and Charley’s charming ineptitude. Mike played with a new, desperate fervor.
During a break while Hank took a shot, Molly nudged Casey with her elbow, a playful smirk on her face. “You know, for a woman with a newborn, you’ve got impressive focus. Rick’s not gonna be an only child at this rate.”
Casey snorted, not looking up from adjusting the sunshade on Rick’s carrier. “Considering this one was accidentally conceived during a threesome with Jan, I chalk all family planning up to dumb luck.”
Molly, who had just taken a sip from her water bottle, did a perfect spit-take, spraying a fine mist onto the deck. Ginny thumped her on the back as she coughed. Rebecca’s eyes went wide, then she bit her lip to suppress a laugh.
“Jesus, Casey,” Molly wheezed, wiping her mouth.
“What? It’s true.” Casey said it with the same casual tone one might use to discuss the weather.
On the court, Stacy intercepted a pass from Charley. She feinted left, then dashed right, leaving Hank stumbling. She passed to Liam, who sunk a smooth jumper over Mike’s outstretched hand. The ball swished through the net.
“That’s game!” Liam declared, clapping Stacy on the shoulder.
Mike groaned, shoulders slumping in mock defeat.
Ginny, ever the instigator, called out from the sidelines. “Okay, new bet! If Mike’s team loses, Mike has to do whatever thing Casey likes.”
Casey laughed, a rich, warm sound. She stood, hoisting Rick’s carrier. “Same thing, Ginny. We both like the same thing.” She walked onto the court, sidled up to her sweaty husband, and gave him a slow, deep kiss that left no doubt about her affections. “Come on, loser. Let’s go collect your consolation prize.”
Back in their modest interior stateroom, the world narrowed to the hum of the ship’s engines and the soft, sleeping breaths from Rick’s travel crib. Mike closed the door, the click of the latch final. He turned to find Casey already pulling her tank top over her head. The afternoon light from the faux porthole lamp glowed on her skin.
“You played good,” she said, her voice low.
“I lost,” he replied, stepping closer. The scent of her, clean sweat and sunscreen, filled his senses.
“Doesn’t matter.” Her hands went to the waistband of his gym shorts, pulling them and his boxers down in one firm motion. His cock, already half-hard from the promise on the deck, sprang free. She wrapped her fingers around him, giving a slow, tight stroke. “You tried really hard. That’s what I like.”
He groaned, his hands finding her hips, pulling her against him. Their kiss was salty and hungry. She walked him backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he sat down. She pushed his shoulders, and he fell back, looking up at her.
Casey knelt on the floor between his spread legs. She didn’t tease. She took the length of him into her mouth in one slow, wet descent, her lips stretching tight around his girth. Her tongue swirled around the head before she pushed down, taking him deep into her throat.
“Fuck, Case,” Mike gasped, his fingers tangling in her dark hair.
She pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his shining tip. “I know what you want,” she murmured, her breath hot against him. “You want me to use my mouth until you’re right on the edge. Then you want to fuck me from behind while I tell you how much I love your cock.”
He nodded, a desperate, jerky movement. “Yes. Please.”
“Good boy.” She swallowed him again, her head beginning to bob in a relentless, practiced rhythm. One of her hands cupped his balls, rolling them gently, while the other reached between her own legs. He could hear the wet sound of her fingers working her own cunt.
The dual sensations were overwhelming. The hot, suctioned tightness of her mouth, the sight of her pleasuring herself, the knowledge of their sleeping son just feet away—it coiled the tension in his gut into a white-hot spring. He felt his climax gathering, a rising tsunami.
She must have felt it too. Just as he was about to tip over, she released him with a wet pop. She stood up, turned around, and bent over the bed, presenting herself to him. Her folds were glistening, swollen.
“Now,” she commanded, her voice husky. “Fuck me. Hard.”
He didn’t need telling twice. He moved behind her, his hands gripping her hips, and guided himself into her. She was dripping, her body yielding easily to his invasion. He sank in to the hilt in one brutal, perfect thrust.
A guttural cry tore from Casey’s throat, muffled by the bedspread. He set a punishing pace immediately, each drive a full, deep claiming. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, of their ragged, shared breaths.
“God, yes,” she moaned, pushing back against him. “Right there. You fill me up so good.”
Her words poured gasoline on the fire inside him. He fucked her with a single-minded intensity, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of her ass. The bed rocked with their rhythm.
“Tell me,” he grunted, his control fraying.
“I love it,” she panted, her words coming in time with his thrusts. “I love how fucking big you feel. I love your cock. I love when you come inside me.”
That was all it took. With a final, deep plunge, he held himself there, buried as deeply as he could go. His release was a violent, shuddering eruption, pulsing into her warmth. The force of it pulled his own climax from him, a convulsing, milking tightness that wrung a choked shout from her lips.
They collapsed forward together, a tangled, sweaty heap on the bedspread. For long minutes, the only sound was their slowing breaths and the distant thrum of the ship.
“We’re terrible,” Mike finally mumbled into her shoulder.
“We’re us,” Casey corrected, a smile in her voice. She twisted her head to look back at him. “And you still lost the game.”
He laughed, a soft, breathy sound. “Worth it.”