Deck Nine, Section Twelve
by Eydie Munroe
Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to CBS and people who really don't deserve them. That said, I thank them for the creation.
Author's Note: Just an idea that's been running around in my head ever since seeing 'Someone to Watch Over Me', and Seven's comment to B'Elanna that "there's no one on Deck Nine, Section Twelve who doesn't know when you're having intimate relations".
God, they're at it again! That makes every night this week that they've done this.
I hate having to listen to my neighbours having sex.
It's not by choice; Starfleet soundproofing sucks. And while I've been saving replicator rations, I don't have nearly enough saved up to get any sort of noise-cancelling equipment or maybe even plain, old-fashioned headphones. As usual, I fold my pillow down over my head to cover my ears, but it never works.
Jesus! Hitting the wall that hard, how does neither of them end up in Sickbay? I know if anybody ever tried that on me, I'd break a few ribs and have a significant dent in the back of my head. Well, her I expect it from, being half Klingon and all. But him? I've dated guys who liked things a little rough, but Paris must be the biggest masochist in the galaxy.
Worst part is that it reminds me I'm alone. Oh don't get me wrong – there's more than a few willing males around here, but certainly nothing that's marriage material. Except maybe Chakotay, but he seems to only have eyes for the captain.
Ayala was pretty good, but that was more of a pity fuck. We were close friends before he found out that his wife had married someone else, and that her new husband had adopted his kids. But what had started out as me trying to comfort him turned into a teary, anger-fuelled tryst that destroyed our friendship. He felt so guilty afterward that he couldn't even look at me. I wouldn't have cared if it hadn't been for the fact that he was the first man that I'd gotten close to in five years. After Chad Humphries, I just don't trust them.
Sigh. There goes the furniture. God only knows what they've broken now. More than a few times, I've seen Paris carrying a portion of something out that's too big to be recycled with their replicator. Makes me wonder how he ever has any rations left for all those stupid hobbies of his. I've never understood this thing that they do. Love is supposed to be about passion, not bodily harm.
Well…not much harm.
Worst part about all this is that it's making me horny as hell. I'd go play on the holodeck, but I'm banned for three more days after my run-in with Tuvok and the Mess Hall rat. It wasn't my fault I was starving – I had worked a triple shift without so much as a break, never mind a meal, while we were putting things back together after the Ansari attacked us. Rumor is that it was over us accidentally wandering into their territory, but out here, who the hell knows. All I know is that I went in to grab something when the place was closed, and ended up taking the last plava fruit, which Neelix supposedly was saving as a surprise for Janeway. So I got busted, still ended up with nothing to eat that night, received a blot on my record, and now have no way to release the tension that I get to endure thanks to the rambunctious couple next door.
Man, I hate my life. I never used to. I was the person that everybody loved to hate because I was so damned happy all the time. Everything seemed to go my way. Except men of course, but that's another story. Even the bumps in the road were only minor inconveniences. Until Voyager, that is.
I was so happy when I got this assignment – my first as a lieutenant. My dad couldn't have been prouder if I'd wiped out the Borg Collective all by myself. I love that man so much. Just the thought of what he went through after we disappeared still breaks my heart, and the part that really hurts is that he'll never know I'm alive. According to my stepmother, he was rendered insensate after an accident with an experimental ion reactor, and while he moves and breathes, it's just his body that's going through the motions. His personality and his memories are gone. The cruelty of life never ceases to amaze me.
She's howling now, a long, loud sound patterned by the obvious thrusts that he's making which are knocking the air out of her lungs. My arms press my pillow down even harder over my ears, but it doesn't help. This is excruciating – like being at a live sex show and your eyes aren't working! Then again, sound always helped me get off more than the visual did. Man, the first thing I'm gonna do when I get my holodeck privileges back is find the tallest, broadest man in the database and ride him until I can't walk. Yeah, it's a big computerized dildo, but I don't care. It takes care of the itch, when my fingers can't do the trick.
If we ever get home, the first thing I'm doing is find someplace to live out in the country. Where there's absolutely no one around for me to hear. I don't ever want to have to hear other people talking, laughing, screaming or fucking through my walls again as long as I live.
For now though, I've got to find a better way to bear listening to those two next door. Either that, or join them, because I'll go crazy if it goes on much longer.