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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/GeneralLeia-SAOS on 2024-10-02 04:01:23+00:00.
(Content warning: mild eroticism, mild gore. Thank you to nessling12 for helping to inspire this story.)
“Shall we show them how it is done amore?” A handsome man held out his hand to her.
Her breath caught in her throat as she heard the sultry music play. Her eyes moved up his body, clad in a dark suit, with his skin contrasting beautifully against a creamy white shirt. She could just barely see that favorite spot, where his neck connected to his shoulder and chest, where his scent would make her ache with desire. She put her hand in his and smiled coquettishly. “Si, mi guapo.”
He led her out to the dance floor, with all eyes watching the striking couple. Her deep red dress hugged her woman’s body and contrasted perfectly with his suit. She hadn’t wanted to wear the dress, feeling insecure about the plumpness she had retained from giving birth some months ago, but her husband was having none of it. “Elena! You will wear the dress, you will drink sangria, and you will dance. Do not argue with me woman. Be ready in an hour! I shall see to Carmen.” Then he had given her a firm swat on her behind and stared forcefully as he pointed to the bathroom.
On the dance floor, he pulled her to him suddenly, in a classic tango move. A few onlookers initially thought the couple looked slightly off balance. Normally he was a couple centimeters shorter than her, but now the difference was at least 10. She had also tried to protest about the matching shoes he had purchased with the dress, but he had laughed off her objections “Los stilettos son necesarios. They are the pedestal so I can properly worship you.”
Their movements were beautifully coordinated, to the classic tango music and each other. She picked up his signals perfectly as he led, and he responded masterfully when she wanted him to twirl her near a table. He chuckled when he saw her pluck the rose from the little vase and put it between her teeth. As they danced, her flowing skirt swirled around them and the music reached a crescendo. He had spun her, taking the rose from her teeth to his. As the music ended on a high note, he dipped her, and ended the performance by supporting her with one arm while the other hand held the rose, softly stroking it over her face, down her throat, over her body. His warriors’ body in the suit was perfectly conditioned from years of training, and he could support her weight indefinitely. She was growing warmer with desire, his body pressed to her, getting hotter, then burning and blindingly hot, in sheer agony. She wanted to scream but couldn’t.
She awoke groggy, exhausted and sweaty. Her body ached with unbelievable exertion. A moment later a handsome man put a tiny newborn into her arms and kissed her sweaty brow. He spoke gently, “now our love is complete. I’m so proud of you amore. Every time I think it is not possible to love you more, you prove me wrong. I still wish you would let me name her Elena.”
She shook her head. “Manuel, it is not appropriate. She is our firstborn, so she should be named for tu padre, Carla or Carmen, but not after me.”
Manuel sighed. “Very well. I spoke to papa, and he says Carmen. Carlos and Carla would be too much confusion, especially with all the time she will spend with sus abuelos.” He had frowned at that thought. “Do we really want to do that? Before, I thought I could, but now that I actually see Carmenita, I have doubts. There are options.”
Elena smiled tiredly. “And what would you propose? That we buy one of those little Don Perrito food trucks and sell empanadas out of the back?”
He stroked her hair with one hand and carefully stroked the cheek of the infant with a finger from his other hand. “As long as I have you, I could do anything and be happy.”
Elena’s feet were cold, so she asked Manuel to cover them with an extra blanket. He did, but they were still cold. The cold crept up her body, freezing her, so she couldn’t move. She was so cold that it burned. The burning was in her entire body, coming from the inside, an excruciating torture far worse than giving birth.
She was barely conscious. Her whole brain was asleep except one tiny bit, smaller than a grain of sand, that was vaguely aware of a guitar being played, badly.
It reminded her of her husband. The first time he had tried to play for her was at her Quiceanera, when they met. There were other young men surrounding her. Out of desperation, he had grabbed a guitar and sang well but played horribly to get her attention. She had laughed and favored him with the attention he wanted. She found out from her brother later that it was fortunate that he had grabbed the guitar. Young Rodriguez had gotten in trouble for fighting many times, so he had enlisted in the Terra Marines to do something constructive with his volatile nature.
He was leaving for boot camp in a few weeks, and they saw each other at every opportunity. Their dates were always chaperoned, including to public places like meals at a Don Perrito franchise store that his uncle owned. Her parents initially disapproved of him bringing her to where they could get free meals, until Elena’s grandmother pointed out that many members of the extended Rodriguez family worked there, so this was actually the most efficient way to introduce Elena to them. In the last week, Manuel actually had Elena back in the kitchen with him, so they could talk for hours during his work shifts. He was even teaching her how to cook the empanadas, his specialty. Elena’s tattletale little sister had eagerly told their parents when Manuel started referring to her as promentida instead of just novia. The chaperones watched them carefully, ensuring the only physical contact was when they were rolling the empanada dough together.
That week in the kitchen was the happiest of Elena’s life thus far. She eagerly looked forward to it even though it was hot. The grill was hot, the fryers were hot, the ovens were hot… she felt it all burning her like her bones had caught fire, burning her entire body
Elena landed from the long jump in her medical power suit. She was exceptional as a Templar Medic, being able to operate her medical power suit like the Terra Marines did their combat suits. It was no surprise, given all the coaching she received from her husband, Captain Manuel Rodriguez. She landed next to 2 patients. Her computer showed one peppered with shrapnel, while another had a nasty acid burn. The shrapnel victim had elevated but steady blood pressure, so he was wounded but not bleeding out. The acid victim was soaked, and the acid was even starting to corrode some external circuitry. She quickly sprayed a heavy dose of a neutralizing agent onto the acid victim, then gave a mild painkiller to the shrapnel victim. She had the dosage high enough to prevent shock, but low enough that it would hurt him to move, so he would stay put for the moment.
Having stabilized them, she turned their combat suits to passive mode, then made another jump to a 3rd injured marine. She was thankful. Their enemy, the Garinja were extremely civilized when it came to warfare. They would actually negotiate terms of combat before a fight. Wounded soldiers placed in an override mode that disabled combat functions would be safe from overt attacks. Medics who did not engage in combat actions were also safe from attack. When the Garinja had heard that Earthforce medics would give medical care and food to captured Garinja soldiers, they had requested copies of basic human medical manuals and made sure to procure human safe food to provide to potential human prisoners.
The Garinja had been extremely warlike, but were also very pragmatic. During their Iron Age, they had codified warfare, to limit it to combatants, so that civilians and infrastructure would be safe. Garinja were also extremely amenable when negotiating peace treaties afterwards. As long as you didn’t violate the agreed upon rules, warfare with them was quite orderly. But if you did violate any of the rules, then Garinja would fight with absolutely no restraint, including violating Galactic warfare laws.
She landed next to the 3rd victim, who was on his back and moaning in pain. The soldier, sensing movement near him, instinctively fired a burst from a small machine gun. Elena had to kick his power suit with her own, to deflect his aim. She moved into his line of sight so they could see each other’s faces. She told him reassuringly, “I am una medica. I am here to help you.”
He nodded, then sobbed. She assessed him quickly. Part of the left leg of his power suit was missing, with some of his actual lower leg with it. He was bleeding out of the wound. She clamped on a tourniquet and hit the timer button on it, so the field hospital would know how long it had been there. She put his armor into passive mode, applied a strong painkiller, and pulled him up to his foot. She activated interlocks on her own power suit, so they were now one unit and could walk together like a 3 legged race.
She could tell by his fluctuating blood pressure and glassy eyes that she had moments before he lost consciousness. “Just relax. I will get us back to base. You are safe now.”
She walked them over to the other two victims. She sprayed medic-web on several wounds of the shrapnel victim. It had been developed after a mission to Plaukan. The Plaukants were an arachnid race. Spider web had been used in ancient Earth medicine, and was a staple of Plauk…
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