I own nothing of STAR TREK save for my undying love.
Thanks to my amazing beta Djinn 1 YOU ROCK!
Christine Chapel gave a soft pleasured moan as soft lips trailed leisurely down her neck toward parts lower.
"Oh yes, yes there, gods yes there, there."
"You like that?" There was a gentle amusement in his voice, but his dark brown eyes blazed with undeniable arousal.
"Yes," she responded. "Please don't stop, Vinnie."
Vincent DeSalle's tantalizingly wet mouth moved lower still and she wriggled backward to allow him better access. But it seemed that there was something behind her, something delightfully warm moving against her.
"What the…?" She opened one eye as something hard poked her in the small of the back.
The exquisite torture of DeSalle's tongue dissipated with her dream into the chilly morning air stealing through the vents of the Fleet issue sleeppod. It took all of her strength of will to stem the desire to scream in frustration.
Dardella four, she recalled slowly as the fog of sleep gave ground. She was part of the landing party on Dardella four. The ion storm- yes the picture was gradually fleshing itself out. She and Leonard had been gathering plant specimens when Spock had come to inform them of the fast moving storm. It was too risky to attempt using the transporter to return them to the ship. They had no alternative but to wait the storm out planetside.
She and Leonard had hurriedly packed up the equipment while Spock, DeSalle, and Morelli had scouted out a potential spot to set up camp until the storm passed. They'd been fortunate in finding a nearby cave about six meters up the cliff face. It was small, but would provide adequate shelter from the icy winds that would become life threatening after sunset.
Christine hadn't been particularly keen on spending the night camped out on the frigid planet, but the gruesome death of Admiral Cipriani and Commander Sonak three weeks ago was still disturbingly fresh in her mind. Although she didn't share Len's phobia about using the transporter, it was difficult to get Jan's description of the grisly scene as she'd tried to reassemble the mangled bodies from the garbled transporter signal out of her mind.
Five people stranded on some godforsaken planet with only three sleeping pods- it was like something out of one of the cheesy romance holovids Nyota was so crazy about.
Romance? Perhaps there might be a silver lining after all, she had mused recalling the heat of Vince DeSalle's eyes on her body as he had ever so nonchalantly volunteered to share his two person pod with her. They'd been talking for the past few days about taking their budding relationship to the next level. Maybe this is a sign? She'd wondered as she'd shyly nodded her agreement and was rewarded by a brief conspiratorial smile.
"I believe it would be more logical for you to share your sleeppod with Ensign Morelli, Lieutanent. DeSalle. Doctor Chapel can share my pod. Doctor McCoy will take the remaining pod."
"Logical?" she'd protested.
"You can share with me, Chris," McCoy had offered with a warm smile as unpacked the small firepit from his emergency pack.
"No offense, Len, but your snoring is worse than a sehlat in heat," she'd countered glumly as the brief vision of her romantic idyll went up in smoke.
"How can this," she'd said as she made a sort of circle in the air pointing to Spock then herself and then the sleeppod on the ground in front of him, "be the logical solution? I would think this would be your worst nightmare."
"Vulcans are not as a rule prone to nightmares, Doctor," he'd responded sharply, punctuating his pronouncement with a sharp upward quirk of his right eyebrow. Ironically there had been a time when she'd found that gesture heart wrenchingly charming. At that moment, however, it had simply made her want to smack the Vulcan crap out of him.
"But—"
"There are 3 sleeppods and five crewmembers. It would be illogical to inflict Doctor McCoy's snoring on any of us so it is logical that he occupy one of the pods by himself. That leaves in order of rank myself, you, Lieutenant DeSalle, and . As Starfleet protocol for our present situation dictates assigning the pods based on rank I see no other alternative."
Logic, Chapel sighed, that eternal Vulcan rain on her happiness parade. Instead of a night of unbridled passion with the red blooded and majorly hunky Vince DeSalle, she was trapped with the green blooded, pointy eared Commander Buzzkill who, based on the pain in her back, didn't have the good sense to take off his phaser before crawling into their sleeppod.
They were on a completely uninhabited planet for heavens sake; what exactly had he been planning to shoot in the middle of the night? Did he think he'd need it to fend off her amorous advances? It had taken her six years and a king's ransom in self help books, but she had finally come to the realization that she was wasting her life pining away for a man who would never want her, and that there were plenty of men like Vincent DeSalle who were more than willing to help mend her broken heart.
She took a deep calming breath. The past is in the past, Christine. Let it go and move forward. In a few more hours she'd be back on the ship in her own bed and this would all be behind her. And, she decided with a warm swell of desire, if she had her way about it she wouldn't be alone in that bed. Whatever doubts had been holding her back from moving things forward with Vince were gone now. The first warm tendrils of sleep had begun to pull her under when she felt another jab to her hip.
"Damn it!" She jabbed backward with her elbow, making sharp contact with his ribs.
"I swear to God if you poke me with that thing again I'm going to rip it off and throw it down the cliff face."