Pink Tires
Two men lounging in the zero g section of the station bar signalled the bartender for another round. One had his feet tucked under the foot hold and was floating more or less upright. The other had an arm looped through a higher hold and was lying along the bright pink wall.
The bartender tossed a pair of drinking bulbs in their direction and added the cost to their tab.
The upright man snagged the drinks out of the air and passed one over. “You were saying that the colour in here is in honour of the original owner? Is the name The Spare Tire a reflection on that too?”
“Nah, Lily was a clever lass, but the new owner wanted a new name.” The wall man gave a wry grin, and waved a hand languidly enough that the reaction didn't do much but make him undulate slightly. “My suggestion, actually. This space station is shaped like a wheel after all, and the bar is on the rim of it.”
The upright man smirked over his floating drink. “And is that the only spare tire you were thinking of, dear?” he asked, lacing his fingers over his paunch.
The wall man reddened, “You know very well how much I like yours.”
“I do know.” The upright man leaned forward and pecked the wall man's cheek lightly. “But I like to hear you say it.”
“Bastard,” he muttered fondly, and drained his bulb.
“Your bastard. And you know it, you incorrigible flirt.”
“Comes with the job. Just enjoy having the place named for you, and don't tell them. Not like you don't have other places like that, is it.”
“True, true.” The upright man sipped his own drink as a sound made them both look over at the bar. “Oh dear,” he said. “I do believe they're about to start bellowing the old anthem. Shall we...?”
“Yes, lets.” The wall man swiped a card over the nearest pay point to cover the tab, and they both pushed off towards the exit hatch, escaping through it just as the bar-wide rendition of Lily the Pink erupted behind them.
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