LJC
2010-01-14 18:08:57 UTC
Title: Crossed Wires
Author: LJC
Contact: ***@gmail.com
Series: AOS
Rating: PG
Codes: Sc/G
Challenge: Ladies First ( http://community.livejournal.com/ladies1st )
Part: 1/1
Disclaimer: Star Trek and all related elements, characters and indicia
© Paramount Pictures / Bad Robot / Spyglass Entertainment 2009. All
Rights Reserved. All characters and situations—save those created by
the authors for use solely on this website—are copyright Paramount
Pictures / Bad Robot / Spyglass Entertainment 2009.
Please do not archive or distribute without author's permission.
"Crossed Wires"
by LJC
The thing Gaila noticed first about Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott
was how his ears turned bright pink when he talked to her.
They weren't even necessarily talking about sex (well, except Gaila
was almost always talking about sex, just a little). They could be
discussing plasma generators, power couplings, or even the advanced
computer programmes regulating the matter/anti-matter flow, and slowly
but surely his ears would begin to burn with blood.
Living among humans for years, she'd noticed that the less
pigmentation the human, the more noticeable their moods were by how
the blood would rush under the skin. She was used to deciphering
certain universal traits among humanoids. Inclining the head or
antenna toward the speaker was generally considered a sign that a) one
was listening and b) one was actually interested in the conversation.
Touches that lingered--even to non-erogenous zones--were almost always
a sign of sexual interest (except in touch-telepaths who, being touch-
telepaths, generally communicated their interest much more efficiently
and directly). Dancing, no matter where you were from, was a form of
copulation whilst still clothed. Even those fancy Tholian dances
requiring twelve legs between you.
And as far as Gaila knew, a blush generally was still a blush, whether
it was a human flushing every shade from palest rose to deep plum
(Nyota's cousin from Mombasa had fascinated Gaila with his skin like
polished mahogany) or a Vulcan's cheeks becoming blue-green (rare, she
knew, because even though they were cold all the time due to the
relative differences in the tilt of Sol III's axis and its distance
from their primary, compared to 40 Eridani A, coetaneous bloodflow
didn't work the same in Vulcans as it did in Orions or Terrans. So it
took some serious physiological responses to produce vasodilation in a
Vulcan. Gaila had only managed it twice, and it certainly wasn't for
lack of trying on her part).
But especially among humans, a blush could also indicate embarrassment
or humiliation, anger and frustration. When they had been roommates
together at the Academy, Gaila had often observed Nyota could become
frustrated and upset to the point of tears over a poor evaluation on a
field test or a simulation. Nyota would blink rapidly, and beneath the
smooth coffee of her skin would burn a deep flush.
Still, among humans and Orions both, a blush was a sign of arousal.
Blood rushing to the skin (and other places) in her body's attempt
regulate her temperature and cool itself. Gaila knew that when she
achieved orgasm, her cheeks, ears and even neck would darken to almost
blue. Jim Kirk's cheeks would be deliciously ruddy like the skin of a
ripe apple, and she'd want to bite him sometimes, to see if he would
taste as sweet (the closest fruit on Orion Prime with skin like a
Terran apple was sour and dry. Terran apples had been a delight to
Gaila when she'd first come to the Academy, just for their novelty).
So while normally she might assume that the Chief Engineer was
physically attracted to her, he had never even so much as asked her to
share a beverage containing a mild stimulant in the mess. He only ever
talked to her about engines and algorithms and coolant systems. Where
he went when he was off-shift was a mystery to her, although Bob Brien
said Scotty's idea of a good time often involved a stack of
engineering journals and a small measure of a malt and grain alcohol
aged in wooden casks.
So she assumed that, when Mr Scott's ears went pink and his voice went
up that half notch, that somehow he was angry with her.
She worked harder, stayed up late reading all the same engineering
journals he did, did everything she could to stay on his good side.
She picked up extra shifts, recalibrated the intermix equations until
*Enterprise*'s engines were running more efficiently than any other
ship in the fleet. She ran cooler and faster than even the brand new
*Excelsior* which everyone at San Francisco Yards swore was a
generation ahead of even *Enterprise*, which itself had been a massive
leap forward in warp engine technology.
However, no matter what she did, Mr Scott never seemed at ease with
her. He would joke with the other engineering lieutenants, even when
he was running them ragged with drills. Laugh with them, even play
cards with them when he would make appearances at the junior officer's
weekly poker game in Rec Room 3.
But never Gaila.
"I've tried everything," Gaila tells Keenser in the Mess over dinner
one night. "But he just doesn't seem to like me."
Keenser just shrugs. "Humans," he says, as if that really explains
anything. Gaila sighs.
"At first, I thought maybe he didn't find me attractive. And it's not
like I really expect every guy to, you know--but then I started
thinking, why is this bothering me so much? And Nyota's theory is that
it's so typically me to finally fall for the one guy on the ship who
apparently doesn't have a thing for Orions."
Keenser blinks at her, and makes a *Hrumphing* sound deep in his
chest.
"Okay, one *human* guy."
He rolls his eyes--silver pinpricks in the dark hollows of his craggy,
grey-olive face--and she would have worried she'd offended him except
she knows he has two wives and sixteen children on his homeworld, and
he doesn't seem to be on the lookout for a third wife. Not that Gaila
thought of herself as the marrying kind, though clearly with that many
offspring, Keenser's wives seemed appreciative of his talents.
"And it's not like I'm pining," she says quickly, as much to reassure
Keenser as herself. "I mean, sure he's cute in a human kind of way.
And I can't figure out what he's actually saying once he gets really
going on a subject. I mean, what does 'dinnae fash yersel' even
*mean*? I've been on Terra for six years, and even with my UT updated,
it just comes out gibberish. And I can always understand the bits
about the engineering systems themselves. But sometimes he starts
going on about puddings. I thought he meant desserts, but apparently
it's food he eats in the morning and it's made from *bread* and it is
either white or black and I tried to ask Nyota about it and she made
this *face*."
Keenser patted her hand sympathetically. He spent six months on Delta
Vega with Commander Scott, so she knows he's sympathetic. But he also
seems a bit tired of every conversation they have being either about
work or their CO, and she just ends up sighing.
"I just wish I knew what I was doing wrong. I want him to like me. Not
*like me* like me, but just not always look like he's about to have a
heart attack every time he talks to me."
Keenser gets up and walks over to the food slot. The new interface is
supposed to respond to voice commands, but in the end Keenser ends up
poking Crewman Mohinder in the thigh until he repeats Keenser's order.
When the transparent aluminium doors slide open, there's a steaming
cup of *klaav* and a single slice of dark red cake on a small plate.
Mohinder hands it to Keenser, who carries it back to the table.
Gaila takes the cake, and Keenser takes the mug, and she thinks about
how ludicrous it is that a shiny new ship can have every weapon known
to human, vulcan, tellarite and andorian, but no-one thought to make
the food slots accessible to anyone under 150 centimetres.
"*Pfaaa.* Maybe I should just give up. There are over a thousand
people on this ship--it's silly to be so obsessed with just one."
Keenser nods his agreement and sips his *klaav*.
"That's it. I'm done. From now on, no more worrying about one weird
human with his weird human food and impenetrable dialect issues."
"Good plan," says Keenser.
* * *
The plan lasts for approximately six days and nine hours. It might
have lasted at least the week, if it hadn't been for a melted coupling
in Jefferies Tube 561, Junction D.
The report said that the 'lift sensors had been "on the fritz" all of
Gamma shift, so when she arrived in Engineering at Alpha Shift, being
the most junior lieutenant on-duty, that made her the Monkey.
Gaila still didn't quite understand why humans referred to other
junior officers as "Monkeys" but in this case, she was sure a simian
from Terra would have been able to actually climb up into the access
tube in half the time it had taken her.
Gaila had been inching her way through the tube for the last twenty
minutes, her hair pulled back tightly into a braid and the sleeves of
her uniform tunic rucked up to her elbows so she would have more
traction. She has her tricorder clutched in one hand because once
she's actually slithering on her belly through the last six metres,
she wouldn't have been able to get it off her belt in the small
space.
She's scanning the junction for the source of the problem when she
hears sound up behind her. She cranes her neck, half turning onto her
hip, and can make out a red tunic and dark head also headed her way.
Whoever it is, he's keeping up a steady litany of curses that are just
faint enough she can't make them out. At almost the same moment he
spots her boots and slows, she recognises both the voice and the
particular epithet he's hurling at someone's illegitimately conceived
offspring.
"Commander Scott?"
"Lieutenant. I didn't realise you were--"
"I was just working on Turbolift 15."
"I'm trying to get to the plasma relays at Junction L."
There is a moment of silence as they stare at one another, Scott still
crouching on his forearms and shins, Gaila uncomfortably twisted on
her side, chin touching her breastbone and one arm braced above her.
"There's another access hatch ahead in eleven meters," she says,
shifting her weight so she can see him more clearly. "I could get out,
and then you could go past me."
He shakes his head. "Don't be daft," he says and she can see from here
the flush creeping up his neck where it's exposed above the charcoal
grey undertunic. "You'd lose too much time backtracking. I can go
back--"
"Does daft mean stupid?" she asks, and he blinks.
"Well, yes. But I dinnae mean you're actually daft--Just a turn of
phrase."
"Okay, then, don't you be 'daft'. The plasma relays are a higher
priority than a service lift with a power coupling that needs
replacing." She pushes herself as flush with the access tube wall as
she can, and motions him forward with her other hand. "If we both
scrinch, then there's just enough clearance for you to get by."
He is getting redder by the second, and Gaila knows it's not just the
close confines of the Jefferies Tube and their body heat.
"I don’t think--"
"This way, neither of us has to trackback. And I'll replace the
coupling and get out of your way before you head back down to Deck
13."
He looks like he's going to order her to keep working, his mouth
compressed into a tight line. Then he sighs in defeat, and begins
inching his way forward. She holds her breath as he crawls slowly
forward, sweat darkening the neck of his tunic and running down his
cheek from his temple.
He's got his tools clutched in one hand, and drops them a few times as
he navigates the tight space between them. She grabs the spanner from
his hand, and apologises as the toe of her boot digs into his thigh.
He mutters something she assumes is an apology as he tries to figure
out where to put his hands so he can pull himself past her and he
rolls over onto his side.
She scoots back just a little, and then her sweat-slicked hand slips
on the upper part of the tube and the next thigh she knows she's
managed to land squarely on his chest, the heels of her hands aching
from where they've scraped against the mesh grating on either side of
his head.
He closes his eyes, and she assumes she knocked the wind out of him
and immediately begins stammering apologies and trying to right
herself again.
"Don't move, Lieutenant," he says, his voice tight.
"Commander, I'm so sorry--"
"I said don't move," he says again. "Please."
She stops.
They're of a height, which means in her standard issue Starfleet boots
she's just that smidgen taller than he is. But at the moment they're
both lying down, albeit with her on top of him and so he's up at her
and she's looking down at him and finally she blurts out "Sir, why
don't you like me?"
He blinks up at her. "I'm sorry--what?"
"You don't like me."
His expression is one of abject horror. "Of course I like you."
"But you always seem so--I mean, I get you so upset. And I try and I
try and nothing I do is ever--"
And just then it dawns on her exactly why he told her not to move.
Because his spanner is still lying on the floor of the tube in front
of them, and her tricorder is next to it, and that means what's
digging into her hip isn't standard Starfleet Issue.
"Oh," she says, her warm breath puffing out with the sound, stirring
his dark hair where it isn't plastered to his forehead.
He closes his eyes again, and now she can almost feel the heat
radiating from his ears. On impulse, she traces the curve of one with
a gold-polished fingernail, and by reflex his hands come up to grip
her hips. He grinds his teeth, and she tries to be very, very still.
"This is... awkward," she finally says, and a panicked giggle begins
to build in her chest. She does her best to hold it in because human
male egos tend to be fragile when it comes to inappropriate laughter
while she's actually *on top of them*. But she can’t stop the corner
of her mouth from twitching.
"More than awkward, aye," he says, looking terribly mournful. "What
with me being your commanding officer and--"
"No, silly. I mean this is awkward because we're in a Jefferies Tube,"
she clarified. "It would be much less awkward in a real bed. Or, you
know, a different horizontal surface. Though to be perfectly accurate,
I'm good with vertical, too. I'm very flexible."
His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open, and the laugh breaks free
and she can't stop herself. Her shoulders are shaking, and she reaches
up with one poor bruised hand to push her sweaty fringe off her
forehead, tucking loose curls behind her ears so they're no longer
hanging down into his face, obscuring it.
"I'm not laughing at you," she assures him as gravely as she can,
given they're crammed into an access tube and her uniform tunic is
rucked up and one leg has slipped between his and his fingers keep
spasming on her hips with each heartbeat. "I just--it's the
situation."
"Did you really think I did nae fancy you? For God's sake, woman,
you're a *goddess* and I spent most of the last six months on a frozen
moon with naught but a Tribble and *Keenser*. Are you mad?"
"Mad as in angry or mad as in mentally unbalanced?" she asks
sincerely.
He answers her by lifting his head, neck and shoulders coming up off
the floor of the Jefferies tube as his lips meet hers. She sighs into
his mouth, sucking on his upper lip and one of his hands slides under
her tunic, fingers splayed across her lower back. She grips his
shoulders, tongue sliding against his and thinks she ought to trust
her instincts from now on.
Because now she's blushing too.
* * *
Keenser flicks the access panel at Junction L closed with a *snap*,
and then crawls down the access ladder, the burnt out power coupling
from Junction D tucked securely into his belt.
"Humans," he mutters, and then after a moment, adds, "Orions," with a
shake of his head.
Author: LJC
Contact: ***@gmail.com
Series: AOS
Rating: PG
Codes: Sc/G
Challenge: Ladies First ( http://community.livejournal.com/ladies1st )
Part: 1/1
Disclaimer: Star Trek and all related elements, characters and indicia
© Paramount Pictures / Bad Robot / Spyglass Entertainment 2009. All
Rights Reserved. All characters and situations—save those created by
the authors for use solely on this website—are copyright Paramount
Pictures / Bad Robot / Spyglass Entertainment 2009.
Please do not archive or distribute without author's permission.
"Crossed Wires"
by LJC
The thing Gaila noticed first about Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott
was how his ears turned bright pink when he talked to her.
They weren't even necessarily talking about sex (well, except Gaila
was almost always talking about sex, just a little). They could be
discussing plasma generators, power couplings, or even the advanced
computer programmes regulating the matter/anti-matter flow, and slowly
but surely his ears would begin to burn with blood.
Living among humans for years, she'd noticed that the less
pigmentation the human, the more noticeable their moods were by how
the blood would rush under the skin. She was used to deciphering
certain universal traits among humanoids. Inclining the head or
antenna toward the speaker was generally considered a sign that a) one
was listening and b) one was actually interested in the conversation.
Touches that lingered--even to non-erogenous zones--were almost always
a sign of sexual interest (except in touch-telepaths who, being touch-
telepaths, generally communicated their interest much more efficiently
and directly). Dancing, no matter where you were from, was a form of
copulation whilst still clothed. Even those fancy Tholian dances
requiring twelve legs between you.
And as far as Gaila knew, a blush generally was still a blush, whether
it was a human flushing every shade from palest rose to deep plum
(Nyota's cousin from Mombasa had fascinated Gaila with his skin like
polished mahogany) or a Vulcan's cheeks becoming blue-green (rare, she
knew, because even though they were cold all the time due to the
relative differences in the tilt of Sol III's axis and its distance
from their primary, compared to 40 Eridani A, coetaneous bloodflow
didn't work the same in Vulcans as it did in Orions or Terrans. So it
took some serious physiological responses to produce vasodilation in a
Vulcan. Gaila had only managed it twice, and it certainly wasn't for
lack of trying on her part).
But especially among humans, a blush could also indicate embarrassment
or humiliation, anger and frustration. When they had been roommates
together at the Academy, Gaila had often observed Nyota could become
frustrated and upset to the point of tears over a poor evaluation on a
field test or a simulation. Nyota would blink rapidly, and beneath the
smooth coffee of her skin would burn a deep flush.
Still, among humans and Orions both, a blush was a sign of arousal.
Blood rushing to the skin (and other places) in her body's attempt
regulate her temperature and cool itself. Gaila knew that when she
achieved orgasm, her cheeks, ears and even neck would darken to almost
blue. Jim Kirk's cheeks would be deliciously ruddy like the skin of a
ripe apple, and she'd want to bite him sometimes, to see if he would
taste as sweet (the closest fruit on Orion Prime with skin like a
Terran apple was sour and dry. Terran apples had been a delight to
Gaila when she'd first come to the Academy, just for their novelty).
So while normally she might assume that the Chief Engineer was
physically attracted to her, he had never even so much as asked her to
share a beverage containing a mild stimulant in the mess. He only ever
talked to her about engines and algorithms and coolant systems. Where
he went when he was off-shift was a mystery to her, although Bob Brien
said Scotty's idea of a good time often involved a stack of
engineering journals and a small measure of a malt and grain alcohol
aged in wooden casks.
So she assumed that, when Mr Scott's ears went pink and his voice went
up that half notch, that somehow he was angry with her.
She worked harder, stayed up late reading all the same engineering
journals he did, did everything she could to stay on his good side.
She picked up extra shifts, recalibrated the intermix equations until
*Enterprise*'s engines were running more efficiently than any other
ship in the fleet. She ran cooler and faster than even the brand new
*Excelsior* which everyone at San Francisco Yards swore was a
generation ahead of even *Enterprise*, which itself had been a massive
leap forward in warp engine technology.
However, no matter what she did, Mr Scott never seemed at ease with
her. He would joke with the other engineering lieutenants, even when
he was running them ragged with drills. Laugh with them, even play
cards with them when he would make appearances at the junior officer's
weekly poker game in Rec Room 3.
But never Gaila.
"I've tried everything," Gaila tells Keenser in the Mess over dinner
one night. "But he just doesn't seem to like me."
Keenser just shrugs. "Humans," he says, as if that really explains
anything. Gaila sighs.
"At first, I thought maybe he didn't find me attractive. And it's not
like I really expect every guy to, you know--but then I started
thinking, why is this bothering me so much? And Nyota's theory is that
it's so typically me to finally fall for the one guy on the ship who
apparently doesn't have a thing for Orions."
Keenser blinks at her, and makes a *Hrumphing* sound deep in his
chest.
"Okay, one *human* guy."
He rolls his eyes--silver pinpricks in the dark hollows of his craggy,
grey-olive face--and she would have worried she'd offended him except
she knows he has two wives and sixteen children on his homeworld, and
he doesn't seem to be on the lookout for a third wife. Not that Gaila
thought of herself as the marrying kind, though clearly with that many
offspring, Keenser's wives seemed appreciative of his talents.
"And it's not like I'm pining," she says quickly, as much to reassure
Keenser as herself. "I mean, sure he's cute in a human kind of way.
And I can't figure out what he's actually saying once he gets really
going on a subject. I mean, what does 'dinnae fash yersel' even
*mean*? I've been on Terra for six years, and even with my UT updated,
it just comes out gibberish. And I can always understand the bits
about the engineering systems themselves. But sometimes he starts
going on about puddings. I thought he meant desserts, but apparently
it's food he eats in the morning and it's made from *bread* and it is
either white or black and I tried to ask Nyota about it and she made
this *face*."
Keenser patted her hand sympathetically. He spent six months on Delta
Vega with Commander Scott, so she knows he's sympathetic. But he also
seems a bit tired of every conversation they have being either about
work or their CO, and she just ends up sighing.
"I just wish I knew what I was doing wrong. I want him to like me. Not
*like me* like me, but just not always look like he's about to have a
heart attack every time he talks to me."
Keenser gets up and walks over to the food slot. The new interface is
supposed to respond to voice commands, but in the end Keenser ends up
poking Crewman Mohinder in the thigh until he repeats Keenser's order.
When the transparent aluminium doors slide open, there's a steaming
cup of *klaav* and a single slice of dark red cake on a small plate.
Mohinder hands it to Keenser, who carries it back to the table.
Gaila takes the cake, and Keenser takes the mug, and she thinks about
how ludicrous it is that a shiny new ship can have every weapon known
to human, vulcan, tellarite and andorian, but no-one thought to make
the food slots accessible to anyone under 150 centimetres.
"*Pfaaa.* Maybe I should just give up. There are over a thousand
people on this ship--it's silly to be so obsessed with just one."
Keenser nods his agreement and sips his *klaav*.
"That's it. I'm done. From now on, no more worrying about one weird
human with his weird human food and impenetrable dialect issues."
"Good plan," says Keenser.
* * *
The plan lasts for approximately six days and nine hours. It might
have lasted at least the week, if it hadn't been for a melted coupling
in Jefferies Tube 561, Junction D.
The report said that the 'lift sensors had been "on the fritz" all of
Gamma shift, so when she arrived in Engineering at Alpha Shift, being
the most junior lieutenant on-duty, that made her the Monkey.
Gaila still didn't quite understand why humans referred to other
junior officers as "Monkeys" but in this case, she was sure a simian
from Terra would have been able to actually climb up into the access
tube in half the time it had taken her.
Gaila had been inching her way through the tube for the last twenty
minutes, her hair pulled back tightly into a braid and the sleeves of
her uniform tunic rucked up to her elbows so she would have more
traction. She has her tricorder clutched in one hand because once
she's actually slithering on her belly through the last six metres,
she wouldn't have been able to get it off her belt in the small
space.
She's scanning the junction for the source of the problem when she
hears sound up behind her. She cranes her neck, half turning onto her
hip, and can make out a red tunic and dark head also headed her way.
Whoever it is, he's keeping up a steady litany of curses that are just
faint enough she can't make them out. At almost the same moment he
spots her boots and slows, she recognises both the voice and the
particular epithet he's hurling at someone's illegitimately conceived
offspring.
"Commander Scott?"
"Lieutenant. I didn't realise you were--"
"I was just working on Turbolift 15."
"I'm trying to get to the plasma relays at Junction L."
There is a moment of silence as they stare at one another, Scott still
crouching on his forearms and shins, Gaila uncomfortably twisted on
her side, chin touching her breastbone and one arm braced above her.
"There's another access hatch ahead in eleven meters," she says,
shifting her weight so she can see him more clearly. "I could get out,
and then you could go past me."
He shakes his head. "Don't be daft," he says and she can see from here
the flush creeping up his neck where it's exposed above the charcoal
grey undertunic. "You'd lose too much time backtracking. I can go
back--"
"Does daft mean stupid?" she asks, and he blinks.
"Well, yes. But I dinnae mean you're actually daft--Just a turn of
phrase."
"Okay, then, don't you be 'daft'. The plasma relays are a higher
priority than a service lift with a power coupling that needs
replacing." She pushes herself as flush with the access tube wall as
she can, and motions him forward with her other hand. "If we both
scrinch, then there's just enough clearance for you to get by."
He is getting redder by the second, and Gaila knows it's not just the
close confines of the Jefferies Tube and their body heat.
"I don’t think--"
"This way, neither of us has to trackback. And I'll replace the
coupling and get out of your way before you head back down to Deck
13."
He looks like he's going to order her to keep working, his mouth
compressed into a tight line. Then he sighs in defeat, and begins
inching his way forward. She holds her breath as he crawls slowly
forward, sweat darkening the neck of his tunic and running down his
cheek from his temple.
He's got his tools clutched in one hand, and drops them a few times as
he navigates the tight space between them. She grabs the spanner from
his hand, and apologises as the toe of her boot digs into his thigh.
He mutters something she assumes is an apology as he tries to figure
out where to put his hands so he can pull himself past her and he
rolls over onto his side.
She scoots back just a little, and then her sweat-slicked hand slips
on the upper part of the tube and the next thigh she knows she's
managed to land squarely on his chest, the heels of her hands aching
from where they've scraped against the mesh grating on either side of
his head.
He closes his eyes, and she assumes she knocked the wind out of him
and immediately begins stammering apologies and trying to right
herself again.
"Don't move, Lieutenant," he says, his voice tight.
"Commander, I'm so sorry--"
"I said don't move," he says again. "Please."
She stops.
They're of a height, which means in her standard issue Starfleet boots
she's just that smidgen taller than he is. But at the moment they're
both lying down, albeit with her on top of him and so he's up at her
and she's looking down at him and finally she blurts out "Sir, why
don't you like me?"
He blinks up at her. "I'm sorry--what?"
"You don't like me."
His expression is one of abject horror. "Of course I like you."
"But you always seem so--I mean, I get you so upset. And I try and I
try and nothing I do is ever--"
And just then it dawns on her exactly why he told her not to move.
Because his spanner is still lying on the floor of the tube in front
of them, and her tricorder is next to it, and that means what's
digging into her hip isn't standard Starfleet Issue.
"Oh," she says, her warm breath puffing out with the sound, stirring
his dark hair where it isn't plastered to his forehead.
He closes his eyes again, and now she can almost feel the heat
radiating from his ears. On impulse, she traces the curve of one with
a gold-polished fingernail, and by reflex his hands come up to grip
her hips. He grinds his teeth, and she tries to be very, very still.
"This is... awkward," she finally says, and a panicked giggle begins
to build in her chest. She does her best to hold it in because human
male egos tend to be fragile when it comes to inappropriate laughter
while she's actually *on top of them*. But she can’t stop the corner
of her mouth from twitching.
"More than awkward, aye," he says, looking terribly mournful. "What
with me being your commanding officer and--"
"No, silly. I mean this is awkward because we're in a Jefferies Tube,"
she clarified. "It would be much less awkward in a real bed. Or, you
know, a different horizontal surface. Though to be perfectly accurate,
I'm good with vertical, too. I'm very flexible."
His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open, and the laugh breaks free
and she can't stop herself. Her shoulders are shaking, and she reaches
up with one poor bruised hand to push her sweaty fringe off her
forehead, tucking loose curls behind her ears so they're no longer
hanging down into his face, obscuring it.
"I'm not laughing at you," she assures him as gravely as she can,
given they're crammed into an access tube and her uniform tunic is
rucked up and one leg has slipped between his and his fingers keep
spasming on her hips with each heartbeat. "I just--it's the
situation."
"Did you really think I did nae fancy you? For God's sake, woman,
you're a *goddess* and I spent most of the last six months on a frozen
moon with naught but a Tribble and *Keenser*. Are you mad?"
"Mad as in angry or mad as in mentally unbalanced?" she asks
sincerely.
He answers her by lifting his head, neck and shoulders coming up off
the floor of the Jefferies tube as his lips meet hers. She sighs into
his mouth, sucking on his upper lip and one of his hands slides under
her tunic, fingers splayed across her lower back. She grips his
shoulders, tongue sliding against his and thinks she ought to trust
her instincts from now on.
Because now she's blushing too.
* * *
Keenser flicks the access panel at Junction L closed with a *snap*,
and then crawls down the access ladder, the burnt out power coupling
from Junction D tucked securely into his belt.
"Humans," he mutters, and then after a moment, adds, "Orions," with a
shake of his head.