This is a 100% parody send-up of every Trekfilm/fic cliché floating around these days...only even clichés have their consequences. Enjoy, and please. It's MEANT to be over the top and to make you laugh! No insults intended. I have rated this M for adult themes (nothing graphic) and the fact that it will mean (I hope) that those who do read it do so because they want to, and can appreciate, er, adult humor. This is loosely based on the M*A*S*H episode, "Dreams" and there are nightmares, but not gory ones.
Copyright Mistress 2009, etc. etc. etc., my work is my own work, and no I don't even dare to think I own Trek, but it sure makes a fun plaything!
Dream a Little Dream 1/1 (M-ADULT)
by Mistress V
Kirk stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, glad the duty day was done. He stopped and blinked, thinking he was seeing things. But no, there really *was* a matching set of sheared velour, blue grey towels there. Each was artfully embroidered, "His."
Cautiously, he took one and wrapped it around his waist. Once again he stopped, this time staring at his abdomen. Then he looked in the mirror and his eyes almost popped out of his head. Every inch of his visible body had scars on it. Big ones, wide ones, little ones, teeth marks? Some old, some fresh. All from some type of battle...fight...whatever. He dropped the towel and turned around. The same scenario was on his rear view. A scripted tattoo snaked across one cheek. "Love Machine."
Kirk was choking by now. "Computer!" he gagged.
"Working."
"Who am I?"
"Captain James T. Kirk, of the U.S.S. Angsterprise."
"List bridge crew."
"Working. First Officer, Lusinta Arabella Alpha Centauri Kirk."
"WHO? Where's Spock?"
"Identical sister took over upon death of previous first officer from too much pon-farr."
"I don't HAVE a sister!"
"Correction. You have two. You are one of triplets. Although due to stasis complications, they were born much later."
"How MUCH later?"
"Both are fifteen solar years of age. Second Officer, Abraxis Camerina Alexandrinanova Kirk."
Kirk sat down on the floor, his head in his hands. There must, he told himself, be some mistake. "Rest of senior staff?" he mumbled.
"Chief Medical Officer, Florentina Nightblooming Jasmina Smith-Kirk."
"WHO?"
"Your stepsister. Chief Engineer, Adonissa Mariieee Tsu, your childhood playmate and only true love, not seen since you were both two years of age, when she was tragically orphaned and sent to live with an evil---"
"STOP!"
Kirk scrambled to his feet and staggered into his cabin. He needed a drink, and then he needed to go out and see what the heck was happening to his ship. Then he stopped short once more. No, he thought.
The lights were off. Scented candles were flickering from every surface. Kirk could just discern a bucket of some kind of wine that was chilling. Barry White was oozing a sensual number. The midnight black satin sheets had been turned back and on then, a naked, tattooed Romulan male was reclining, stomach down. Upon sensing Kirk's presence, he lazily opened his piercingly obsidian eyes, whose depths threatened to explode into lava showers and consume them both.
"Hi, babe," he purred.
*************
Nyota Uhura was dreaming. She walked along a tropical beach, laughing at the feeling of her toes being tickled by the warm seas. The waves were hypnotically rhythmic, just like breathing. Seabirds swirled overhead, their cries a soothing lullaby.
Suddenly, a rogue bird broke formation and plummeted straight for her. She didn't even have time to scream. It took her hand in its bright yellow beak and gave an almighty tug. "MAMA!" it cried.
Nyota opened her eyes. A Vulcan toddler was standing next to her bed, his hand firmly around her finger. "Mama?" he repeated.
She sat up and looked around, aware there were other presences nearby. Her eyes focused in disbelief. Every single bit of available space was covered with baby carriers. There were dozens of them, and each held an impossibly adorable, angel's-breath cute SQUEE!ling infant. And a half-familiar scent was in the air, but it sure wasn't baby powder. They all started crying, right on cue.
"Come along, Nyota." An older woman bustled in. She carried one child on her hip and had another in the crook of her arm. "Time to look after your brood."
"W-who are you? And what do you mean, my brood?"
"I'm Nanny McSensible. Surely you didn't think all that rumpy pumpy you and your green-blooded reincarnation of Pan were getting up to at all hours wasn't without its...price? If you hurry, we can get through this lot and then move onto the next. I'm afraid we've a wee bit of the poops on at the moment, so it's mighty messy."
"Next? How many..."
"Seventy-two at last count, but there's----" The woman pointed at Nyota's burgeoning abdomen. "You're expecting quadruplets, you know. Later this afternoon, all fine laddies like their father. And then you're having another baby tomorrow. A beautiful little lassie, as delicate as a will o' the wisp in the heather."
Nyota fainted into her pillow.
***********
Hikaru Sulu made his way into the gym, eager for a fencing workout. He was puzzled that the lights did not come on when requested.
"Lights?" he repeated.
A small spotlight opened up, on what looked to be a sandy floor. What the heck? Then background lighting came up and he could just make out an ampitheatre, filled with his shipmates and they were all waiting. For what?
Something appeared his hand. He stared at a braided cat o' nine tails.
"Suuuuuluuuuuu" A gasp, a whisper and a moan all rolled into one. A figure materialized. It was splayed out on the sand, naked, bound, glistening with oil. It was...Pavel Chekov.
"Take me, master, I am yours. And then I must die.......at your hand. Please be merciful…and quick."
Sulu ran out of the room so fast his trainers nearly caught fire.
******************
Leonard McCoy scowled to himself. Where devil was that instrument? He opened a storage compartment and was caught in an avalanche. Of liquor bottles. There must have been hundreds. Scotch, vodka, bourbon, gin, some he'd not even heard of, let alone seen. He cautiously cracked the other cabinet doors. Sure enough, each was stuffed with containers of booze, enough to supply the entire ship several times over. And in the corner stood a bin as tall as he was. Spilling over with...empties.
"For God's sake!" he muttered.
"Song requested not found, selecting another." A moment later, a twangy, syrupy ballad filled his office.
"Yore cheatin' heart....."
*************
Spock entered his cabin and immediately felt a hand on his arm. It belonged to Nurse Chapel, who handed him a paper cup with medication inside.
"Time for your pon-farr pill, Mr. Spock" she said brightly.
"My WHAT?"
"Your pon-farr pill," she repeated patiently. "It's time for your time."
Spock stared at her like she'd grown wings and a tail. "I do not understand."
"Well, neither do I, I'm just following orders. I certainly can't be bothered to argue, just take the darned thing, will you? You're late enough as it is!" And with a disdainful toss of her head, she flounced out the door.
Spock became aware of his surroundings. There were others here---females, by the sounds of it. He poked his head around the corner of his sleeping alcove.
Scores of scantily-clad women and girls lay about, writhing and moaning seductively. Some looked like Nyota, only not exactly like Nyota. Others were half-Vulcan, half-Romulan, half-Horta, half *something*, with the emphasis on being lost in the half. Still others were impossibly youthful, with perky breasts, long limbs and flashing eyes covered by clouds of windswept tresses.
"Mate with me!" one shrieked. "I'm the one you want! Your missing half!" Then the rest joined in, clawing at him.
"Choose MEEEEEE! Give me your secret (OMG!) lerv child!"
"I'm your WUN TWOO LERB! Hold HANDS with meeeee!"
Spock leaped back towards the wall and was surprised to find another figure lurking there. It was Sarek.
"Father?" he asked, unable to comprehend what was happening.
"Vulcan needs you, my son. You must do your duty."
"I do not understand..." he repeated. But he did.
"Go on," Sarek encouraged. "We need to repopulate the colony."
Spock felt sick.
******************
Er, the end. As has oft been claimed, the devil made me do it!