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 Hobbie's Wingspan

Hobbie walked out of the refresher station, towel drying his hair. Since Wes was away at conference, he finally had a room to himself. So, he could do as he pleased, say what he pleased, and best of all, wear what he pleased. Which at this point, since he was still damp, was nothing at all.

One end of his towel swung loosely down over his forehead, covering his eyes, as he scrubbed at the back of his neck with the other end. He hummed a happy tune, one that he had heard the other night in the officers lounge, and couldn't get out of his head. He made a little hop and a skip, as close as he could get to dancing across the room, heading towards his bed, where he had laid out a uniform, clean and pressed.


Hobbie froze in mid-hum and mid-scrub. He couldn't tell if the person who was obviously in the room was male or female. At this point, he wasn't sure which he would have preferred.

Hobbie slowly lowered the towel from his face, trying discreetly to bring it down as far as his midsection. But there was no one in front of him. He glanced to his right, and realized immediately what had happened. He had forgotten to lock the door to his quarters, and when he had entered the room, doing his little dance, he had moved too close to the door and it had sensed his approach, opening for him. In the doorway stood three female crew members.

As soon as he saw them, he blushed furiously, wrapping the small towel ever tighter around his waist. It didn't meet at the back, so he turned his exposed butt away from them. They giggled, and he gave them an uneasy smile and a little wave.

"Well," said one of the three. "That is an impressive wingspan, Major Klivian." She stepped back, and the door closed.


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