Another enchanting entry from the one and TalesFromTheSpockSide…

Gaila and McCoy in …

Mardi Gras : Show Me Yours

Mardi Gras.

The most wonderful holiday on Earth.

Of course, there's a more depressing period that follows, called Lent, leading up to another joyful, but very, very chaste, holiday called Easter. But since I'm not Terran and I don't believe in any Terran religions, I can pick and choose my holidays.

"Show us your tits!"

I'm highly amused. Everyone is yelling at the women on the parade floats; they're yelling, "Throw me something!" and the spectators are screaming for a glimpse of mammaries. Another thing I love about humans, especially men: a flash of skin, a rude word, even just the right smell can get them aroused faster than an Orion in heat. I'm Orion, so I should know.

The breasts briefly displayed don't impress me, although there are a few novelties – aliens with more than two, various skin colors and textures. No Orions. We'd get bored with this game so fast and go find somebody with whom to share the aforementioned mammaries.

Grinning to myself, I continue my sashay down Bourbon Street and stop cold across from a bar window.

There he is. Not someone I expected to see here; someone I haven't seen since I left Enterprise for Denobulus Triaxa. Tall, dark, cynical. Leaning on the bar, looking out the plate glass at the paraders. White suit, immaculate white shoes. I almost expect to see a carnation in his lapel.

He hasn't seen me yet and I lurk and stare as he lifts a cigar to his lips and sucks on it, blowing smoke rings. That mouth purses to form the ring and I know exactly where I want him to plant it. His mouth, that is.

I pause on the sidewalk across the street from the bar and wait for a float to go by. His eyes follow it idly, flick back to catch the next one, land on my face.

A beat, then he rises from his stool, drops some cash on the counter and emerges casually from the bar. I stand still, hoping, waiting. I'm already aroused and he's twenty feet away.

He saunters up to me, stands beside me looking at the parade but not seeing it, and says, "You know, green is my favorite color."

"Really." I'm delighted at his light tone, but not sure he really remembers me. It could make all the difference in my evening.

"Same shade as my favorite drink," he muses.

"Mint julep?" I say, and his eyes meet mine.

"Good memory," he replies softly, "Miss Gaila."

"Want to make some more memories?" I ask. It seems like you can say anything at Mardi Gras, no matter how corny, because he just smiles a slow, lazy smile and says, "Lead me to 'em, honey."

*

The last time I saw him I was about to transfer off Enterprise and was making my goodbye rounds. I cornered him in Sickbay and we had some fun on one of the biobeds and I said he could come visit me on Denobulus Triaxa. And here he is, in New Orleans, at Mardi Gras, standing right here smelling of cigar smoke and cologne and linen and making my mouth water.

Apparently I'm having the same effect on him, not that that's unusual, but I even love watching him ogle. His eyes linger on my mouth, move down to my breasts and admire them individually, travel down past my belly to the cleft between my legs, lie there for a bit as if planning, calculating, finally slide down my legs, actually making my toes tingle in anticipation of what he might do to them. His gaze returns to my face and his expression is uncharacteristically fond. I'm so used to him being a curmudgeon.

"Bones," I say softly. "I hope you have a hotel room with a big bed."

"Why's that?" he murmurs. He's going to make me say it.

"Because you're going to take me to your room and lock the door and touch me one time and I'm going to come like I've never come before. And then I'm going to return the favor. Several dozen times."

"Why wait?" He leans in and licks his lips, opens them, flicks his tongue over my mouth, one arm sliding round to support my back. It's so noisy I don't think he can hear my gasp, but he must feel it because his mouth smiles against mine before plunging to thrust and suck mine, not hard but firmly, just what I want to feel in so many other parts of my body. I'm not easy, no matter what you've heard about Orions, but this man - this man has my number and is using it mercilessly.

It's Mardi Gras. I let go and close my eyes and my orgasm washes over me, standing on the street with his tongue fucking mine and his arm holding me up.

*See "Fond farewells"

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