Eduardo leaned over the charts. It was quiet in the observatory. Unusually quiet.

 It had been four months since Camille had shown up banging on the door, five suitcases and a paper form signed by the Astrological Society of America. Their intern candidate.

 Turns out Camille is three things Eduardo has learned to live with on this once-quiet mountaintop observatory in Argentina. One: she is an astrologist, not an astronomer, and how people smarter than him confused the two he will never figure out. Two: she is small in stature, wildly chaotic, and definitively out of place on a mountaintop in Argentina. And three: she looks delicately beautiful naked, which she is often, and is at this moment.

 Camille stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame like she owned the entire mountain. She was watching him the way she always watched him when she had already decided something and was simply waiting for him to catch up.

 "Eduardo." She said it like a verdict. "The moon is in exact opposition to Saturn right now. This is a once-in-a-cycle alignment and you're in there staring at rocks. And I'm abnormally flexible when Saturn is in opposition." She paused, perfectly content with herself. "That's just science."

 Eduardo dropped the pencil and pushed back from the charts.

 "Camille." He stood. "I really don't want to miss Saturn's opposition."

 "No," she said. "You really don't. And it's a little silly that you almost did."

 He crossed the room and lifted her small frame off the floor and into his chest. She giggled, the sound of it bright and unself-conscious, legs wrapping tight around his waist like she had always fit there and had simply been waiting for him to figure that out too.

 "You'd think," she said into his neck, "that having no clothes on during a Saturn opposition would be enough. But apparently I have to threaten with flexibility to get any attention around here."

 "You don't have to worry about getting my attention." He was already moving toward the bedroom. "You always have it."

 She felt the words land somewhere warm in her chest and said nothing, just tightened her arms around him.

The bedroom should have been dark. The observatory had been built for darkness, the whole mountain had, but Camille had strung twinkle lights around the bed sometime in the first week and over the months they had multiplied, spreading across the ceiling and down the walls until the room glowed like something she would describe as celestial and Eduardo would describe as a fire hazard. She thought they were both right.

 He set her down carefully on the edge of the bed.

 "Camille. Wait–"

 Black Hole sat in the direct center of the mattress. The cat was very large and very round and it was difficult to tell whether he was sitting or lying down. He stared at them with the specific expression of a creature who considered the bed his and their presence in it a courtesy he had not yet extended.

 "Black Hole." Camille pointed at the floor, firm and maternal. "Go. Shoo. Go play."

 The cat did not move. He blinked once, slowly, which Camille chose to interpret as emotional complexity.

 "He's been in a mood lately," she said. "It's a moon thing."

 "It's a calorie thing," Eduardo told her.

 He climbed onto the bed to move the cat. Black Hole melted incrementally into the mattress, redistributing his weight in a way that made him simultaneously harder to lift and more pathetic to look at. Camille watched with genuine sympathy, which she was aware was not helping.

 "Come on buddy." Eduardo got both hands under him. "I have a Saturn window and I'm not missing it because you need to–just move a little–"

 The cat stared.

 Eduardo rolled him gently toward the side of the mattress.

 "Eddy, careful, he's–"

 Thump.

 Black Hole hit the floor like a bowling ball and made a single sound of profound disgust before going completely still.

 "Eddy, he's delicate."

 Eduardo looked at the cat on the floor. The cat did not look back.

 "He's fine," Eduardo said. "I think." He turned back to Camille. "Come here."

 Camille was already scrambling to the center of the bed, rolling onto her back beneath the twinkle lights. She was comfortable in her own skin in a way she had never had to work for, the way some women just were, easy and warm and completely at home in the glow she had built around herself.

 "You have clothes," she said. "I don't. One of us has a problem to solve." She giggled.

 Eduardo climbed off the bed and undressed, leaving everything in a loose pile on the corner of the mattress. When he turned back she was waiting for him, touching herself gently, unhurried, watching him with soft eyes and no apology for either.

 He straddled her and took her hand.

 "I can do that for you," he said.

 "You are good at it," she agreed, and let him, settling back into the pillows with a slow exhale, her whole body making the decision to simply receive.

 She was quiet for a moment. Then–

 "You know what would be even better?"

 "What," he said.

 "If that finger was replaced by your tongue."

 She giggled, delighted with herself, with him, with the specific perfection of the suggestion.

 Eduardo obliged.

 He moved down, spreading her legs gently, and tasted her. She exhaled slowly, fingers threading into his dark hair, hips rising instinctively to meet his mouth, her body knowing exactly what it wanted even when her brain was already somewhere else entirely.

 "Mmm." Her voice was drifting, loose and warm. "I was right. Saturn is your phase. It's like… ohhh. That's… that's good… scientifically speaking this is… mathematically…"

 Eduardo stopped.

 "Camille." He looked up at her. "You're losing it." He laughed.

 She laughed too, breathless, not embarrassed at all. "It feels so good. Keep going."

 "I have a better idea," he said.

 He sat up and drew her to him, sliding into her in one slow motion they both knew well. He was careful. Camille was small and he was always careful at first, reading her, watching her face the way he watched his data – looking for the thing that mattered.

 She pulled him down into her and wrapped her legs around his waist.

 "Eddy. I won't break."

 "I know," he said. "I just–"

 "Eddy."

 "Yeah."

 "Can you just fuck me?" A pause. "Please. Faster. I'm close."

 His rhythm quickened. He pushed deeper into her, and he knew the triggers now, had learned them the way he learned everything – carefully, attentively, until they were his. A little more pace and then came the soft purrs, the small squeaks, her mouth moving to his ear, breath coming in short warm pulls against his neck.

 "Finish," she panted. "I'm almost done. Your turn."

 That always did it.

 He gripped her waist and pulled her tight against him, spilling into her. Her purring continued, soft and satisfied, her fingers trailing slow absent patterns across his back like she was reading something written there.

 More than a few moments later he slipped out of her.

 "Did that meet expectations?" he asked.

 "Mostly." She giggled, bright and unbothered. "It would be perfect if you'd get me a towel. We need to make sure your tank isn't overflowing next time. There's a lot to deal with here."

 He laughed and sat up. "Anything for the A grade."

 A moment later he returned with a small towel. She accepted it like it was entirely her due.

 "My hero," she chirped. "Perfect score for you."

 Black Hole jumped onto the bed. Camille bounced an inch off the mattress as he landed. The cat regarded them both briefly, then plopped back into the center of the bed and claimed Eduardo's foot with the authority of someone who had never once doubted his right to it.

 "I think he needs more stimulation," Camille said, scratching behind Black Hole's ear. She meant it sincerely. She always meant it sincerely.

 "I think he needs fewer of those cat treats you bought. A package a day is not good for him."

 She smiled. "He likes them. A little treat isn't bad every once in a while."

 "No," Eduardo agreed, not looking at the cat. "A treat isn't a bad thing."

 He was looking at Camille.

 She noticed. She always noticed with him, even when she pretended she hadn't.

 "What?" she asked.

 "How did I end up with you?"

 She was quiet for a moment, which was rare enough that it meant something.

 "The universe sent me to you," she said. Simply. Like it was the most obvious data point in the room.

 Silence.

 "I think it did," he said. "I really did."

 Outside the window the mountain was dark and full of stars, each one exactly where the math said it would be, the sky doing what it always did, indifferent and enormous and somehow, tonight, feeling like it had arranged itself just for them.