An inferno raged around the tiny ship as it tumbled through the atmosphere. The craft was just big enough for two control chairs and one bunk, swapped during long missions, and its two inhabitants struggled to regain control. "Firing explosive bolts on damaged wing. Now," she shouted. The wing blew off, the explosion barely noticeable in the chaos, and the tumble became a spin.
"Ejecting ammo," he said.
"No," she screamed, "we need the mass up front. Rear ammo reserves only!"
"Right, ejecting now." The ship shook, and the end-over-end tumble became the point-first spin of a dart.
"We're stabilizing," she said. She yanked at unresponsive controls. "But we can't pull up!" She loosed a string of curses.
"Got the inertial dampeners working," he said, and the turbulence of reentry faded away, bringing peace to the cabin. "Not that it's going to help."
They looked across their panicked, flashing control panels for anything else they could try. Their hands, a moment ago frantic on the controls, were still.
"Y'know," she said, "I always kinda wanted to fuck you."
"Yeah." She grinned. "Want to?"
"Now?" he asked.
"I'd rather die fucking than bored."
"Help me with my pants."