Rowan and I wore minimal clothes to be considered decent to walk back to the skoolie. I wore his satin wine-red shirt, which reached just long enough to cover all my parts. He wore his crown and his slacks and carried everything else as a bundle under his arm.
Our combined s****l appetites hadn't been sated. We proceeded to make passionate love in the shower, and again in the makeshift bed he made us atop the bus.
He groaned, rolling onto his back into the blankets, his towel bunched over his pelvis.
Stars twinkled above us. I couldn't tell if they were the same constellations as Earth, or if it was easy to identify a big dipper in any vast array of dots.
“I can keep doing this," Rowan said, catching his breath. “Over and over again, until the end of time. I don't need to be king."
