The Doctor chose a simple evening gown in deep, rich green. The lines were classic, transcending time and fashion. High in the front, with a square neck, the back plunged daringly. A nipped in waist followed her hips, then flowed like the flute of a flower to just below her calves.
She twisted her hair up, allowing what appeared to be random curls to artfully fall. For jewelry she simply wore a pair of Myonian pearl earrings Jean-Luc had given her.
Her announcer chirped at precisely 1845 hours ship's time. She faced the door, keeping the secret of her dress hidden when she invited him in. As expected, he had left the collar of his dress tunic for her to do up. The habit made her smile. She often wondered how he managed on missions alone...
He walked into her quarters a few steps, fussing with his cuffs, then looked up at her. He stopped dead. His obvious appreciation drew a huge sparkling smile. "Captain, could I help you with your collar?"
"Indeed." His voice was a little rough. "You look... stunning, Beverly." He told her as she stepped up to fasten his uniform. A delicate scent rose up around him with her approach. Something sweet and... almost wistful... like a summer night.
"There." She announced, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "You look very Captainly, Captain." She grinned. He hated the formal tunic, but she had a soft spot for the fancy gold braiding and the high collar. Of course, she avoided wearing *hers* whenever possible, but relished occasions to see him in one.
Well used to the routine, he put his hand out, palm up. She deposited her communicator badge and a small tube of lipstick, which he stowed in his uniform jacket's inner pocket. It was only as he paused to allow her to step through the door ahead of him that he caught sight of the back of her dress-or rather, the lack thereof...
"Merde." he blew out softly.
Confident in the desired effect, she turned back to him. "Problem?" Her eyebrow arched.
"Absolutely not." His eyes were a deep mossy green, and what she read in them was promising. He didn't even wait until they were in the privacy of the lift before placing a palm on her lower back. A delightful shiver went up her spine. "Chilled?" He asked, solicitously, his own brow arched only slightly.
"Not in the least." She smiled at him. "In fact, I think I'm just starting to warm up."
His smile matched hers, the negotiations would be formidable this evening, and that had nothing to do with the treaty.
=^=
"Thank you, Beverly, for coming tonight." The two walked casually toward her quarters, bumping elbows artlessly. The Captain had used every excuse to touch the expanse of freckled back exposed by her dress.
The Doctor had charmed politicians on both sides, and kept him delightfully distracted from the drawn out, formal speeches each side made. It *was* a momentous occasion, the coming together of two sides never before united. And he always felt a bit of awe that he was living such historic events. But at some point, all formal political functions began to resemble each other; After the speeches, after the ceremony, but before it was time to politely escape.
Her presence made it eminently more bearable.
He was aware of the light touch of her fingers curling inside the crook of his elbow whenever she rejoined him. Her palm had practically burned through his trousers when she placed it on his thigh when leaning close to speak to him at the dinner table. He could not mistake that she leaned closer to him when he placed that possessive, puissant hand on her back.
There had not been dancing, just soothing, pleasing background music. For once, he was disappointed. As much as he professed to dislike dancing, he savored the times he could dance with *her.*
Finally the speeches had been finished-including his own brief observations-the last toast drunk, and it was late enough to courteously bid their leave.
And now he found himself wanting the evening to not end. The easy way they fit together made him long for the night when he would not leave her at her door. Knowing he had final negotiations in the morning, he had to put duty above personal want... need...
He could not resist one last, long stroke of his hand down her bare spine as they stopped just beyond the motion sensors of her door. For once, he had no idea who else might be in the corridor, nor did he care. She swayed into him, half-turning to face him. Her palms rested on his chest.
"Would you like a nightcap?" Her voice was soft, tentative. A far cry from the teasing vixen who had left this doorway hours earlier.
He groaned, letting his fingers wander her warm skin. "Beverly... I would like *nothing* more than that... "
"But..." She inserted, eyes downcast.
"But..." he repeated, touching his forehead to hers, "I have to go over the changes the delegates made today, in preparation for the final draft tomorrow."
"I know." She said, sadly. "I know." Her voice was quiet. She tipped her head back from his, and raised her fingers to his lips. Her eyes were suspiciously shiny when she asked, "Will there ever be a right time for us Jean-Luc?"
He trapped her fingers inside his own, and brought them back to his lips. "We will make the time. I promise." And his eyes were full of that promise. Before he could change his mind, before he could drown in the pools of her blue eyes, he lightly kissed her forehead, then pulled away from her. He didn't look back until he was in the lift. When he turned, she was still standing there, watching him. He smiled as the lift doors closed.