A bunch of sweet mush. Longer than a drabble, shorter than my usual one-shots. What would you call that?
Don't own, totally wish I did.
She's lying beside him on the grass, staring up at the sky. San Francisco is clear today. Some scattered clouds bump across the atmosphere, only blocking the sun every so often, but mostly Sol smiles down upon Terra and Gaila. Her red ringlets are spread haphazardly around her face, creating a halo of firey red to balance her green skin. Kirk is leaning on one elbow, a PADD on the grass beside her face, typing furiously. It's for his warp theory class, or Federation Negotiation Theory Two, or some boring command class that Gaila is glad she doesn't have to take. She has the day off today. And that's how they ended up sprawled on the lawn in the quads.
"Your planet is so pretty," she idly remarks, "it's so similar to Orion but different. The same yet not."
She puts one hand behind her head, propping up. Her body stretches on the grass, the blades crinkling under the weight of her uniform. She's got her grey cadet uniform unzipped to her waist. Her abdomen is visible in the clear afternoon sun. Gaila smirks as several male cadets shoot lewd glances her way, admiring the curves of the standard black undershirt of her uniform.
"What's different about it?" Kirk muses, still buried in the work of his PADD.
Gaila turns her head slightly, regarding him. "The way that your planet is so… colorful. My planet is not nearly so. The rocks, they are brown. The grass, it is brown. The trees, they are brown. My people are instead the colorful ones; we represent the stifled nature of Orion. But your planet, Jimmy, everything is colored. The grass. The sky. The clothes, everything.
Kirk isn't really paying attention, he's still focused on his work. But he can't help but let out a little smile at her words. She's so sweet, Gaila. Underneath her oversexed and mature image is a sweet humanoid female who finds beauty around her.
Like a child, she plucks a blade of grass and twirls it idly in her fingers. She brings it to her lips like she's seen on the vidscreens and attempts to make a noise; a strangled whoosh comes from her throat and she laughs a tinkling laugh.
Kirk doesn't notice the laugh, but he notices the way her bosom heaves and he's debating on feeling guilty for what he's about to do. "Gaila," he asks, "what's this code do again?"
He points to the computer code that he's scrutinizing on his PADD, clearly confused as to its functions. She cocks her head, her ringlets spilling about, as she leans over, shifting onto her stomach like he is.
"Oh, this?" she also regards the PADD. "This is simple, Jimmy, here, look—"
She's lost in explaining the logistics of the program although Kirk is very well aware of what it will do. A ghost of his cocky grin plays on his lips and he's almost guilty for what he's about to use Gaila for.
Almost.