Part XVII: Hoshi
Look at me. Hickies-a-plenty with raccoon eyes to boot! This was all Malcolm's fault! Shit, no, did not just sound coy like a girlfriend or wife who's secretly pleased with the current state of events. DID NOT!
All night long I had dreams of a certain armory officer demonstrating great expertise with his equipment. Note to self: cancel target practice indefinitely, or prepare to giggle ridiculously every time Malcolm or yourself handles a phase pistol. I don't think Malcolm would mind the cancellation, at that moment it was me-plague, him-un-vaccinated. Of course, there was the issue my shooting skills getting rusty...
I know! I shall endeavor to go on only peaceful away missions, or just stand far away from Captain-shoot-me-Archer. One day there will be a rule, a directive of some kind, that won't allow the most important person on the ship go on away missions. For now, I would just have to settle for reminding him that he needs to re-record his in-case-of-death message every month and hope he gets the hint. T'Pol changes her message every week. Travis does it when he has free time...which is a lot. Hm, should consider making the same memo to Trip along with a picture of that moon Malcolm blew up. With an additional message, like, I don't know, 'just wait'? Or is that too clichéd?
Was starting to have a good first hour into the new day when I belatedly realized the other person in the turbolift was an individual who should by all means be tired because he had been running around in my head since the night before. Although 'running' wasn't exactly the right way to put it. Let's just say it requires lots of stamina and leave it at that, okay? He had got no right to look so dashing in his crisp uniform when all I wanted to do was take it off...what what?! No, no, please let me start that sentence over.
Too late.
Someone must have been listening because the next thing I knew I was back in the arms of said 'should-be-naked' person. I suppose I should thank my lucky stars that he was not actually naked at that moment. A little mischievous voice that sounded a lot like a certain engineer replied, 'Oh, but the day is young.' Not for you, pal, not if I have anything to do with it, your days are going to end the moment I get out of this dark cursed turbolift...
Whoa, hello!
"Malcolm."
Heavy sigh. "Yes?"
"That's not my elbow."
The man next to me sputtered.
"That's okay," I comforted as I reached over to pat him on the arm. Honestly, if the good lieutenant wanted to cop a feel, who was I, the lowly ensign that I am, to refuse? Never let it be said that I'm not a good Starfleet officer.
"Hoshi."
"Yes?"
"That's not my arm."
Of course it's not. "I didn't realize you carried your phase pistol at all times, Malcolm."
Growling. "I. Don't."
"Oh." Hee.
Static started coming over the lift comm until it cleared into a greeting of 'hellooooooo?' I'll give you three guess who's behind that comm.
I heard Malcolm shift as he felt the wall for the comm unit. Finally, he snapped into it, "Trip, what the hell's going on?"
"Oh, hey, Malcolm, yeah, we're having some trouble with the lift system. Some wires got crossed during the ion storm. You can't get out because you're stuck right at the intersection. Just sit tight and we'll have you out in...ohh, an hour."
"An hour?!" I exclaimed, before I could clap my hand over my loud mouth. Oh no. I'd sealed my own fate. I was doomed.
Pause on the other end of the comm, then a sly, "Malcolm...who's that I heard?"
I could feel him glaring at me through the dark. If he'd had a phase pistol with him, I'd have been a dead woman. "Nobody!"
"Really? Oh, the environmental systems are disconnected too, it's going to get nippy in there! And a new report just came in, huh, it's going to take four hours to get y'all out of there."
I scrambled toward the comm. If I could only have reach through and strangled the man on the other side. "Charles Tucker the Third! If you don't get us out of here in an hour, I'll transport you into a bulkhead!"
Uproarious laughing commenced for two minutes or so before he was able to get out, "Hey, Hoshi, how you doin'? Yeah, sure, no problem, I'll get on it right away, y'all just sit tight and do whatever it is y'all do to...pass...the...time..." More laughing until the comm cut out completely.
I would NOT yank my hair out. My skull likes being covered. It has done nothing to me, I should not punish it. Trip, on the other hand... I turned toward the direction where I heard cracking knuckles. "Please tell me you plan to kill him painfully, slowly, and creatively."
"It's such a great plan I'm going to have it published in Vengeance Weekly."
"Good." Malcolm was going to take care of everything, I trusted him enough to make the crucial decisions, no matter how much I'd like to do it myself. Some people just do that whole maim and kill thing better. I understand completely. I leaned down and felt around for my coffee mug. If we were going to be stuck in here for a cold hour, or more, thanks to the rat bastard, I might as well settle down with a hot cup of java. I sipped carefully, letting the warmth cover me. I eyed the dark outline of the armory officer pacing in front of me.
"Coffee?" I offered graciously.
I imagined him looking in my direction, and then he took my coffee. See, this wasn't so bad. We were two civilized adults stuck in a turbolift and we had yet to jump each other. We rock!
"Ugh, I've already had two different pots and it still tastes like feet."
My lips twitched. "How would you know what feet taste like?"
The emergency lights blinked on just in time for me to see his reaction. He opened his mouth. Struggled to speak, to explain, to refute the connotation, but his brain did not cooperate. He closed it. Then he said very slowly, carefully considering the words, "It tastes bad."
"The feet?"
"THE COFFEE!"
"Oh." Very well, avoid the question, you taster of feet. This train of thought inevitably led me to stare at my boot encased foot, followed by the image of Malcolm worshiping my ankles with kisses while tickling my soles with his breath. In my imagination he slowly moved up to my calf, lifting my leg up while nibbling at the delicate skin beneath my knee...ohhhhh. Oh oh, was that moaning out loud?
The turbolift answered by shaking wildly about and Malcolm, unbalanced for some reason that I probably shouldn't go into, fell against the wall. The top of my coffee mug took that chance to jump up and away, causing the steaming contents to spill out onto the hapless man holding it.
"AHHHH!"
"TAKE IT OFF!" I yelled, pulling at his jumpsuit. Hmm, great sense of deja vu, this urgent need to strip Malcolm. It just feel so right! Down came the zipper! Off came the undershirt! Kind of like tearing off the wrapping of a christmas present. And ohhh, I got just what I wanted...
"Hoshi?" he said, his voice slightly hoarse.
"Hmm?" Apparently I'd been a very good girl this year. The style! The color! The feel of him under my probing fingers! I bet he'd fit like a glove.
"Could you please stop the moving?"
The moving?
"...of your hands--HANDS, HANDS!"
Hands? I looked down at my own, and realized with sudden blinding clarity that they were a hair's breadth away from a certain place that I'd been very well acquainted with these past few days. I yanked my hands away, high and up, but his nose got in the way.
"Bloody hell!" He jerked his head upward.
"Oh my god, are you--" Panicked, I stepped in to get a better look. Apparently, that was one step too many because the next thing I know, his lips were on my lips, and they were doing a merry little homecoming dance. And his hands...I couldn't come up with a metaphor, with all the grinding and groping...and I call myself a linguist. I should be ashamed!
"Can I just say something? I understand you guys being adventurous and all, but please not on top of the warp core. I really don't need that mental image."
I looked up and saw Trip standing in the open threshold of the lift with his team behind him, gaping at us, jaws hanging open at the sight of me and Malcolm...having...or rather, trying to have our way with each other. Need I remind you that Malcolm was half-naked?
I changed my mind. Malcolm was not going to handle this. There are some things you need to do yourself. Personally. With your own bare hands.
*****
Look at me. Hickies-a-plenty with raccoon eyes to boot! This was all Malcolm's fault! Shit, no, did not just sound coy like a girlfriend or wife who's secretly pleased with the current state of events. DID NOT!
All night long I had dreams of a certain armory officer demonstrating great expertise with his equipment. Note to self: cancel target practice indefinitely, or prepare to giggle ridiculously every time Malcolm or yourself handles a phase pistol. I don't think Malcolm would mind the cancellation, at that moment it was me-plague, him-un-vaccinated. Of course, there was the issue my shooting skills getting rusty...
I know! I shall endeavor to go on only peaceful away missions, or just stand far away from Captain-shoot-me-Archer. One day there will be a rule, a directive of some kind, that won't allow the most important person on the ship go on away missions. For now, I would just have to settle for reminding him that he needs to re-record his in-case-of-death message every month and hope he gets the hint. T'Pol changes her message every week. Travis does it when he has free time...which is a lot. Hm, should consider making the same memo to Trip along with a picture of that moon Malcolm blew up. With an additional message, like, I don't know, 'just wait'? Or is that too clichéd?
Was starting to have a good first hour into the new day when I belatedly realized the other person in the turbolift was an individual who should by all means be tired because he had been running around in my head since the night before. Although 'running' wasn't exactly the right way to put it. Let's just say it requires lots of stamina and leave it at that, okay? He had got no right to look so dashing in his crisp uniform when all I wanted to do was take it off...what what?! No, no, please let me start that sentence over.
Too late.
Someone must have been listening because the next thing I knew I was back in the arms of said 'should-be-naked' person. I suppose I should thank my lucky stars that he was not actually naked at that moment. A little mischievous voice that sounded a lot like a certain engineer replied, 'Oh, but the day is young.' Not for you, pal, not if I have anything to do with it, your days are going to end the moment I get out of this dark cursed turbolift...
Whoa, hello!
"Malcolm."
Heavy sigh. "Yes?"
"That's not my elbow."
The man next to me sputtered.
"That's okay," I comforted as I reached over to pat him on the arm. Honestly, if the good lieutenant wanted to cop a feel, who was I, the lowly ensign that I am, to refuse? Never let it be said that I'm not a good Starfleet officer.
"Hoshi."
"Yes?"
"That's not my arm."
Of course it's not. "I didn't realize you carried your phase pistol at all times, Malcolm."
Growling. "I. Don't."
"Oh." Hee.
Static started coming over the lift comm until it cleared into a greeting of 'hellooooooo?' I'll give you three guess who's behind that comm.
I heard Malcolm shift as he felt the wall for the comm unit. Finally, he snapped into it, "Trip, what the hell's going on?"
"Oh, hey, Malcolm, yeah, we're having some trouble with the lift system. Some wires got crossed during the ion storm. You can't get out because you're stuck right at the intersection. Just sit tight and we'll have you out in...ohh, an hour."
"An hour?!" I exclaimed, before I could clap my hand over my loud mouth. Oh no. I'd sealed my own fate. I was doomed.
Pause on the other end of the comm, then a sly, "Malcolm...who's that I heard?"
I could feel him glaring at me through the dark. If he'd had a phase pistol with him, I'd have been a dead woman. "Nobody!"
"Really? Oh, the environmental systems are disconnected too, it's going to get nippy in there! And a new report just came in, huh, it's going to take four hours to get y'all out of there."
I scrambled toward the comm. If I could only have reach through and strangled the man on the other side. "Charles Tucker the Third! If you don't get us out of here in an hour, I'll transport you into a bulkhead!"
Uproarious laughing commenced for two minutes or so before he was able to get out, "Hey, Hoshi, how you doin'? Yeah, sure, no problem, I'll get on it right away, y'all just sit tight and do whatever it is y'all do to...pass...the...time..." More laughing until the comm cut out completely.
I would NOT yank my hair out. My skull likes being covered. It has done nothing to me, I should not punish it. Trip, on the other hand... I turned toward the direction where I heard cracking knuckles. "Please tell me you plan to kill him painfully, slowly, and creatively."
"It's such a great plan I'm going to have it published in Vengeance Weekly."
"Good." Malcolm was going to take care of everything, I trusted him enough to make the crucial decisions, no matter how much I'd like to do it myself. Some people just do that whole maim and kill thing better. I understand completely. I leaned down and felt around for my coffee mug. If we were going to be stuck in here for a cold hour, or more, thanks to the rat bastard, I might as well settle down with a hot cup of java. I sipped carefully, letting the warmth cover me. I eyed the dark outline of the armory officer pacing in front of me.
"Coffee?" I offered graciously.
I imagined him looking in my direction, and then he took my coffee. See, this wasn't so bad. We were two civilized adults stuck in a turbolift and we had yet to jump each other. We rock!
"Ugh, I've already had two different pots and it still tastes like feet."
My lips twitched. "How would you know what feet taste like?"
The emergency lights blinked on just in time for me to see his reaction. He opened his mouth. Struggled to speak, to explain, to refute the connotation, but his brain did not cooperate. He closed it. Then he said very slowly, carefully considering the words, "It tastes bad."
"The feet?"
"THE COFFEE!"
"Oh." Very well, avoid the question, you taster of feet. This train of thought inevitably led me to stare at my boot encased foot, followed by the image of Malcolm worshiping my ankles with kisses while tickling my soles with his breath. In my imagination he slowly moved up to my calf, lifting my leg up while nibbling at the delicate skin beneath my knee...ohhhhh. Oh oh, was that moaning out loud?
The turbolift answered by shaking wildly about and Malcolm, unbalanced for some reason that I probably shouldn't go into, fell against the wall. The top of my coffee mug took that chance to jump up and away, causing the steaming contents to spill out onto the hapless man holding it.
"AHHHH!"
"TAKE IT OFF!" I yelled, pulling at his jumpsuit. Hmm, great sense of deja vu, this urgent need to strip Malcolm. It just feel so right! Down came the zipper! Off came the undershirt! Kind of like tearing off the wrapping of a christmas present. And ohhh, I got just what I wanted...
"Hoshi?" he said, his voice slightly hoarse.
"Hmm?" Apparently I'd been a very good girl this year. The style! The color! The feel of him under my probing fingers! I bet he'd fit like a glove.
"Could you please stop the moving?"
The moving?
"...of your hands--HANDS, HANDS!"
Hands? I looked down at my own, and realized with sudden blinding clarity that they were a hair's breadth away from a certain place that I'd been very well acquainted with these past few days. I yanked my hands away, high and up, but his nose got in the way.
"Bloody hell!" He jerked his head upward.
"Oh my god, are you--" Panicked, I stepped in to get a better look. Apparently, that was one step too many because the next thing I know, his lips were on my lips, and they were doing a merry little homecoming dance. And his hands...I couldn't come up with a metaphor, with all the grinding and groping...and I call myself a linguist. I should be ashamed!
"Can I just say something? I understand you guys being adventurous and all, but please not on top of the warp core. I really don't need that mental image."
I looked up and saw Trip standing in the open threshold of the lift with his team behind him, gaping at us, jaws hanging open at the sight of me and Malcolm...having...or rather, trying to have our way with each other. Need I remind you that Malcolm was half-naked?
I changed my mind. Malcolm was not going to handle this. There are some things you need to do yourself. Personally. With your own bare hands.
*****