Part XV: Hoshi
Hm. I think Malcolm likes me. I think he REALLY likes me. Like on a scale of 1-10, 100. Because it REALLY felt like off the charts, if you know what I mean. Not that how...high...it is matters, of course. It can't hurt though.
Wow, space really IS the final frontier, because if you ever told me that I was going to make out with a lean mean phase pistol toting machine in zero-g during an ion storm I would have laughed in your face. I shall never look at ion storms the same way again. If the ship's a rocking, don't come a knocking. Ain't that the truth? Yes, I am twelve. Oh yeah, these are the adventures of Hoshi Sato, to explore new necking positions and boldly where no woman has gone before.
Starfleet should write that on their recruitment ads. You know, 'Gravity putting a cramp in your sex life? Join Starfleet, and prepare to discover whole new civilizations. Wink wink.'
And at the rate we were going, new civilization, here we come.
Oh wow, that really hit the spot! I should have known, the guy's got naval blood in his genes, he really knows how to navigate. Add the inclination to make things go BOOM...it was too good to be true. Next thing I know I'm going to wake up and find the past few days just a hallucination. Snort. At least this one was more fun than the last hallucination I had. You know, the one where I was invisible? Lamest. Hallucination. Ever.
Whoa. It felt way too good to be a hallucination. That's a good thing, right?
But did I really want this?
Yes.
Okay, wrong question. Was this going to be good for me?
HELL, YES.
All right, all right, let's put it this way. Was this a wise course of action?
...
Yeah, uh-huh, I thought so.
"Umm---acolm--ummm," I attempted to say. Not the best attempt from Earth's top linguist, but as good as I am, my lips couldn't multitask.
"Yes, love?"
Gaaah. Gaaaaaaaah. Speechless. Me. Me speechless. Mini fireworks exploding at the British endearment from British hunk nibbling expertly at my neck.
My brain, formerly containing forty-something languages, went blank with the exception of two words.
Hot. Man.
For a moment I comtemplated the fact that making out with Malcolm didn't seem to be good for my communicating skills. Then I realized, with the help of Malcolm's expert hands, that not all communication is verbal. In fact, actions speak louder than words, don't they? As his lips traced over my collarbone, teeth nipping greedily, his message was loud and clear.
I want you very badly. Over.
In response, I leaned into him so that the only thing separating our bodies was our clothes and kissed him senseless, employing all my skills as an expert linguist, adding that little hip grind I incorporated from a brief hula dancing stint in Hawaii.
Come and get it, bad boy. Over.
He groaned like a man in pain. Pain that had the name Hoshi written all over it. Hee hee. Ohhhh, even his groans sound British. Never letting me have the upperhand for long, his hands were soon roaming across my chest. They felt so right there, like the comsic key and lock. Or just the fact that he'd already felt me up several times sort of denoted some kind of familiarity. Like baby ducks and their mothers. Yup, the memory of his hand was forever imprinted on my boobs.
Why were we wearing so many clothes? Friction, good. Skin, better! I shuddered in pleasure as his callused fingers tiptoed down my spine. What a way to lock and load.
"Hey, Mike, I think I heard some noise over there," came Trip's voice through the empty conduits.
Malcolm and I froze in place.
No. No. Stay away. Be lazy for once. Go do something you're not supposed to do. You're so good at that!
"Go back to Engineering, I'm gonna go check it out," Trip called out. Happily.
Of course he would be happy. I'm convinced he has some sort of radar, constantly seeking us out during the most compromising of situations. I know, if only we weren't always IN compromising situations, that wouldn't matter. But hey, if I was meant to be logical I would have been born a Vulcan.
I looked at Malcolm, his breath still coming in short pants as was mine. And though he had heard the commander's announcement, he was still staring so hotly at me I'm surprised my hair wasn't on fire--my face sure felt like it.
"So..." I started. Don't jump him. Don't jump him. Again. No matter how good he looked at that moment, all rumpled and sexy like he just rolled out of bed. I am not a nympho, I can control myself. Stop staring at me with those flamey blue eyes of yours! Oh God, when's Trip going to get there?
Trip's head popped in a second later and he blinked in surprise as he registered our presence. He took in our flushed complexions and the numerous hickies forming on my neck. Then his face broke into a lascivious grin. "Wow, zero-g, never thought of that before. Y'all are less uptight than I thought!"
I am NOT uptight. Just a bit high strung. As of that moment, very tightly strung.
Hm. I think Malcolm likes me. I think he REALLY likes me. Like on a scale of 1-10, 100. Because it REALLY felt like off the charts, if you know what I mean. Not that how...high...it is matters, of course. It can't hurt though.
Wow, space really IS the final frontier, because if you ever told me that I was going to make out with a lean mean phase pistol toting machine in zero-g during an ion storm I would have laughed in your face. I shall never look at ion storms the same way again. If the ship's a rocking, don't come a knocking. Ain't that the truth? Yes, I am twelve. Oh yeah, these are the adventures of Hoshi Sato, to explore new necking positions and boldly where no woman has gone before.
Starfleet should write that on their recruitment ads. You know, 'Gravity putting a cramp in your sex life? Join Starfleet, and prepare to discover whole new civilizations. Wink wink.'
And at the rate we were going, new civilization, here we come.
Oh wow, that really hit the spot! I should have known, the guy's got naval blood in his genes, he really knows how to navigate. Add the inclination to make things go BOOM...it was too good to be true. Next thing I know I'm going to wake up and find the past few days just a hallucination. Snort. At least this one was more fun than the last hallucination I had. You know, the one where I was invisible? Lamest. Hallucination. Ever.
Whoa. It felt way too good to be a hallucination. That's a good thing, right?
But did I really want this?
Yes.
Okay, wrong question. Was this going to be good for me?
HELL, YES.
All right, all right, let's put it this way. Was this a wise course of action?
...
Yeah, uh-huh, I thought so.
"Umm---acolm--ummm," I attempted to say. Not the best attempt from Earth's top linguist, but as good as I am, my lips couldn't multitask.
"Yes, love?"
Gaaah. Gaaaaaaaah. Speechless. Me. Me speechless. Mini fireworks exploding at the British endearment from British hunk nibbling expertly at my neck.
My brain, formerly containing forty-something languages, went blank with the exception of two words.
Hot. Man.
For a moment I comtemplated the fact that making out with Malcolm didn't seem to be good for my communicating skills. Then I realized, with the help of Malcolm's expert hands, that not all communication is verbal. In fact, actions speak louder than words, don't they? As his lips traced over my collarbone, teeth nipping greedily, his message was loud and clear.
I want you very badly. Over.
In response, I leaned into him so that the only thing separating our bodies was our clothes and kissed him senseless, employing all my skills as an expert linguist, adding that little hip grind I incorporated from a brief hula dancing stint in Hawaii.
Come and get it, bad boy. Over.
He groaned like a man in pain. Pain that had the name Hoshi written all over it. Hee hee. Ohhhh, even his groans sound British. Never letting me have the upperhand for long, his hands were soon roaming across my chest. They felt so right there, like the comsic key and lock. Or just the fact that he'd already felt me up several times sort of denoted some kind of familiarity. Like baby ducks and their mothers. Yup, the memory of his hand was forever imprinted on my boobs.
Why were we wearing so many clothes? Friction, good. Skin, better! I shuddered in pleasure as his callused fingers tiptoed down my spine. What a way to lock and load.
"Hey, Mike, I think I heard some noise over there," came Trip's voice through the empty conduits.
Malcolm and I froze in place.
No. No. Stay away. Be lazy for once. Go do something you're not supposed to do. You're so good at that!
"Go back to Engineering, I'm gonna go check it out," Trip called out. Happily.
Of course he would be happy. I'm convinced he has some sort of radar, constantly seeking us out during the most compromising of situations. I know, if only we weren't always IN compromising situations, that wouldn't matter. But hey, if I was meant to be logical I would have been born a Vulcan.
I looked at Malcolm, his breath still coming in short pants as was mine. And though he had heard the commander's announcement, he was still staring so hotly at me I'm surprised my hair wasn't on fire--my face sure felt like it.
"So..." I started. Don't jump him. Don't jump him. Again. No matter how good he looked at that moment, all rumpled and sexy like he just rolled out of bed. I am not a nympho, I can control myself. Stop staring at me with those flamey blue eyes of yours! Oh God, when's Trip going to get there?
Trip's head popped in a second later and he blinked in surprise as he registered our presence. He took in our flushed complexions and the numerous hickies forming on my neck. Then his face broke into a lascivious grin. "Wow, zero-g, never thought of that before. Y'all are less uptight than I thought!"
I am NOT uptight. Just a bit high strung. As of that moment, very tightly strung.