Thursday, December 25, 2008

Waves Upon a Tropical Shore R

Disclaimer: Paramount owns these characters in real life. Gratitude to Frank Loesser for the lyrics.

All of the dialogue are (is? never get that right) the lyrics to the song "Baby It's Cold Outside", with just a couple of changes. No beta. All fubars belong to me.


~~Waves Upon A Tropical Shore

Summary: Baby, it's cold outside.

Uhura cursed Captain Kirk for spending his shore leave in a brownstone located in an Old Chicago historical district that prohibited transporter activity. She had had to beam down a long block away and slip and slide her way down the icy sidewalk to his building, getting buffeted by the freezing wind and strafed by sheets of sleet, dressed only in her Starfleet uniform and a short jacket. She tugged on the ridiculous woolen cap that was last year's holiday present from Chekhov. For once, she was happy for his knack for impractical gifts. The cap was useless to her in Africa but she was grateful of it here—and lucky that she shoved it into the pocket of her jacket a year ago. The giant pom pom on the cap's peak bobbled in the wind. Uhura pulled down the ear flaps and tied the string tightly at her chin.

She sighed. She'd be in Africa had she not volunteered for the last shift before space dock. Then she got stuck with the subspace packet that she now had to hand-deliver to the captain. Her family was expecting her and she was already late. Her mother was probably waiting in the east wing gallery with a glass of iced red tea.

Damn these historical districts! When Kirk said that he wanted to be incommunicado on his shore leave, he really meant it. Starship Captains were allowed only twenty-four hours of total privacy per shore leave. How Kirk swung seventy-two, Uhura would never know.

As she approached the brownstone, she heard the muffled sounds of music and laughter over the noise of her chattering teeth. She'd forgotten about Kirk's legendary Holiday Bash.

Uhura frowned. She wasn't sure if she was in the mood to deal with a party. She planned to drop off the packet and go. Her family was expecting her and she was late. Her father would be beside himself—mainly because he would be left to deal with his fat, fussy sister without Nyota's gentle and humorous mediation. Her sister, already baiting her about the young captain with the vid star looks, would listen to her excuses with a raised brow and a wicked grin. And her brother—she hadn't seen him for nearly three years and she would only have a day or two with him as it was.

She carefully picked her way up the stairs to the entry of Kirk's building. A blast of wind nearly sent her tumbling back down. Of course, the door buzzer didn't work when she pressed it—not that Kirk could hear it or his communicator signal over the party going on in his flat.

She peered into the vestibule and beat against the thick old glass with her hands. There was another door between her and the hallway that led to the flat. It would be impossible for anyone to hear her out here. She sighed again, hugged herself and danced from foot to foot. She had to wait on the stoop until someone came through the door. Sleet spit a bull's eye right up her nose.


Why didn't she think this through? At the very least, she should have checked the weather. She considered calling for a flitter just to have someplace warm to wait.

Damn, again!

She longed briefly for the good old days of global weather control—without all the crashing of the Earth's ecosystem and the nearly killing of all of the fish and the--.

Uhura leaped out of the way as a laughing couple tumbled out of the vestibule. She caught the door before it could close again then turned to see who almost knocked her off the stoop and sent her skidding out into the traffic.

It was Dr. McCoy with a woman.

McCoy's eyes were bright and his mouth smeared with lipstick. The woman wore impossibly high heels that matched the red silk that peeked from the hem of her cloak. Thick chocolate hair shimmered in a Rita Hayworth wave that obscured her face.

They stopped at the curb and a flittercab appeared out of nowhere. McCoy gripped the woman's hair in both of his hands, pulled her head back and kissed her deeply. He gazed at Uhura from beneath his lashes as his lips moved against the other woman's mouth. Uhura shivered, feeling the kiss from ten feet away. The woman shoved McCoy into the flitter. With one long, bare leg in the cab and the other braced against the curb, the woman turned to Uhura. She tossed her hair back and winked.

It was Admiral Nogura.

Uhura picked her chin up off the ground and stood at attention.

Nogura ducked into the flitter with a throaty laugh and the vehicle whisked away into the driving sleet.

Uhura entered the building, still not quite believing her eyes. Ellington's "Arabesque Cookie" thrummed sumptuously in her ears as she headed down the hall. As she raised her fist to knock, the door opened. Startled, Uhura stared with wide eyes at a woman who could be her twin—if she were Deltan.

And Spock's date.

The Deltan gave Uhura a heavy-lidded once over--twice. She spoke to Uhura in the soft susurrus of the Deltan language. It took Uhura a moment to mentally translate what she heard. A barely audible click at the end may have turned a polite greeting into a complex proposal involving Spock and the Deltan and activities that the three of them might enjoy if Uhura cared to join them. Uhura stared at Spock. She wasn't sure if he understood what the Deltan asked. He watched her intently as he carefully buttoned his heavy cashmere coat.

Maybe he did understand.

A flush started somewhere around Uhura's ankles, traveled up her legs, lingered in her belly, then rushed suddenly to her face. She gave a tiny negative shake of her head. The Deltan shrugged elegantly and stepped past her into the hallway. After a moment, Spock inclined his head and followed.

Or maybe she was wrong and it was just a polite greeting.

Uhura blew out a breath to clear her head. First McCoy, now Spock. She needed to deliver this packet to the captain and get the hell out of here.

The scent of alcohol, burning snythcedar and warm bodies enveloped her as Uhura entered the flat. The place was brightly lit and packed with people. A swing band replaced Ellington on a dented gramophone and the partygoers surged into every available empty space to dance. She stood on her toes saw Kirk behind a bar pouring drinks. He glanced her way and she waved. He held her eyes briefly but he continued to splash tequila into three shot glasses lined in front of him. Scotty and Ambassador Shras were belly up to the bar. By the fireplace, Admiral Morrow stared into the eyes of his wife, then leaned forward and kissed her gently on the forehead. On a vid screen above the mantle, Dean Martin silently played a grand piano with a cigarette between two fingers. A blond in a tight dress leaned backwards with her elbows on the piano.

It seemed that everybody who was anybody was at Kirk's party.

As Uhura tried to push her way through the crowd, someone thrust a drink into her hand. She saw the back of Sulu as he weaved sinuously through the crowd, holding a tray high above his head with one hand and snapping his fingers to the beat with the other.

"I really can't stay," Uhura shouted after him.

"But baby, its cold outside," he said over his shoulder. He blew her a kiss before being swallowed by the crowd.

She sighed and cautiously sniffed her drink. She took a sip. It was warm and sweet and spiced with enough real rum and cinnamon to make her eyes water. Chekhov bounced by, pausing long enough to plant a kiss soundly on her lips. She slapped at him and he pointed above her head. She looked up. Mistletoe still hung from a fixture above her. She tried to move but the crowd held her fast. She dodged kisses from Riley, DeSalle and another from Chekhov. Riley laughed at her hat.

The bodies parted again and she saw the captain heading in her direction. He wore a lush, brown v-neck sweater that deepened the color of his eyes. He glanced up at the mistletoe but only grinned, and with his fingertips, brushed his forelock from his forehead, his gesture reminding her that she still wore the garish woolen cap. She pulled it off, instantly regretting her decision. Her hair probably looked better hidden under the hat. She ducked her head and tugged the hat back on, tying the sting again. She reached into her pocket for the data wafer. When she looked up again, the captain was gone.

"I've got to go away!" she pleaded, but no one heard. Uhura sighed in frustration and actually stamped her foot. The cap's pom pom wobbled in sympathy.

Admiral Morrow and his wife shrugged into their coats. They stopped by the door. Morrow protested his wife's winding his muffler up to his nose.

"But baby it cold outside," she laughed, kissing him through three layers of wool.

Morrow rolled his eyes in indulgent exasperation. His wife turned and smiled over Uhura's shoulder. "This evening has been—"

"I was hoping that you'd drop in," said Kirk, his lips close to Uhura's ear.

She jumped and nearly dropped her drink. She hadn't felt him standing behind her. He smiled, head bent toward her, his breath a warm feather on the side of her neck.

"So very nice," continued Mrs. Morrow, watching Kirk and Uhura, a matchmaker's gleam in her eye.

Uhura opened her mouth then closed it. She took a tiny step away from Kirk's body. The conga line came back around and pushed her back into him. She stared at Admiral Morrow. She held up the data wafer. Kirk cupped her hand in both of his.

"I'll hold your hands. They're just like ice," he said.

Uhura gulped. "My mother will start to worry," she said.

Morrow's wife laughed and began to unbutton Uhura's jacket. "Beautiful, what's your hurry," she said, cutting her eyes at Kirk. She smiled politely at Uhura's hat.

Uhura stood helpless as Mrs. Morrow wrestled her out of her jacket. Kirk still held her hand captive.

"My father will be pacing the floor," pleaded Uhura.

"Listen to that fireplace roar," Mrs. Morrow said sweetly.

"Really, I'd better scurry," whispered Uhura.

She stood, trapped between Kirk and the Morrows, half in and half out of her jacket. Kirk brought her hand to his lips and blew his warm breath across her cold fingers. She didn't realize it until Mrs. Morrow took the glass from her that she'd finished her drink.

"Darling, please don't hurry," said Mrs. Morrow. She deftly plucked a drink from Sulu's tray as he whizzed by and thrust it into Uhura's hand.

Adelia Morrow raised matchmaking to the level of an Olympic sport.

Uhura glanced at the glass then looked back at Kirk. He released her hand and slipped the wafer into his pocket. He shrugged with a slight tilt of his head, leaving it up to her. His eyes were the darkest she'd ever seen them.

"Well, maybe just a half a drink more," she said weakly.

"Put some records on while I pour," said Kirk, heading back to the bar.

Mrs. Morrow grinned and sailed out the door, blissfully ignoring her frowning husband.

Uhura pulled her other arm out of her jacket and placed it carefully on a chair near the door. She fought her way to the gramophone and thumbed through the stack of 78's. It was quite a collection and many of them weren't replicas. Kirk was a brave man to trust a fortune in old records to this wild party. She pulled out a Cannonball Adderly and set it carefully on the turntable. A trumpet blared and the conga line thundered by.

Uhura slapped a hand over her ear.

"The neighbors might think--!" she shouted.

Riley hopped out of the line and looked out the window. "Baby, it's bad out there," he laughed.

The guests crowded at the window, marveling and the swirling snow. Chekhov bragged that this was a spring rain compared to the winter storms in Moscow. This was shorts and sandals weather in Leningrad. And one time, in Latvia, he--. Sulu groaned and bonked him on the head with the tray. Ambassador Shras chuckled darkly.

Riley stood in the middle of the room holding a sprig of mistletoe over his head. He closed his eyes, puckered up and invited all comers. Chekhov headed toward him with a big sloppy grin on his face. Sulu shouted a warning and the chase was on. Uhura despaired of getting out of here anytime soon.

Everyone was so…happy.

De Salle slid an arm around her shoulders and dipped her into a kiss. He held a glass to her lips. She took a sip and her eyes nearly crossed.

"Hey, what's in this drink?" she coughed.

Scotty shouted a reminder about crashing the Lexington's engineering crew party and the crowd surged toward the door, laughing, playing tug-of-war with coats and scarves.

The door slammed, there was a moment of silence then Nat Cole began to sing. The room was empty. The lights were low. The fire snapped in the fireplace.

"Uh—," said Uhura.

Suddenly, the captain stood before her. She stared at him with wide eyes. She could see his pulse beating slowly in the golden hollow of his throat. She could smell his skin. He leaned a hand against the windowsill. Uhura backed against the wall. He reached over her and parted the blinds with a finger.

"No cabs to be had out there," he said softly.

This was the last place she wanted to be: alone, with Kirk, inches from his body. His breath was warm with mulled rum. She couldn't move.

"I wish I knew how…" she said.

He tilted his head back slightly and gazed at her face. "Your eyes are like starlight now," he murmured.

"…to break this spell."

He wound his finger around the yarn tie of her cap and tugged gently. "I'll take your…hat?" he said, grinning.

She slipped under his arm and backed away. The cap came off and dangled from his finger.

"Your hair looks swell." Grinning.

Uhura ran a hand over her mussed locks. Kirk chuckled. She snatched the silly hat from him and clutched it to her breasts. He was standing too close to her again, gazing at her silently. She prayed that he couldn't hear the pounding of her heart. A log tumbled in the fireplace. He brushed by her to go poke up the fire.

She watched him, the golden reflection of the fire on his face, the tender skin on the back of his bent neck, the soft sweater stretched across his shoulders. Oh god! Why was she still here? She should've run out the door while his back was turned. She clutched the wool cap more tightly to her.

He brushed against her again as he headed for the sofa. He sat down and leaned back, clasping his hands between his knees. He said nothing, did nothing, only watched her with his head cocked curiously.

The wind threw sleet violently against the window. Uhura jumped and walked quickly to the sofa. She perched hesitantly on the edge. After a moment, she turned to the captain.

"I ought to say no no no, sir." To what, she didn't know.

Kirk sat up, pressed his palms against the couch and shifted carefully over until their bodies were a hairsbreadth apart. He clasped his hands between his knees again, resting his elbows on his thighs.

"You mind if I move in closer," he asked quietly.

Uhura swallowed and shook her head slowly, left then right. He gently pulled the cap from her hands. He smoothed down the ear flaps and fluffed the pom pom with his fingers. He set it beside him on the sofa. Mr. Cole sang softly.

Kirk rose and held out his hand. Behind him Uhura could see Dean Martin and the blonde in a passionate embrace. In the back for her mind she heard her sister snicker.

"At least I'm going to say that I tried," she said.

"Then what's the sense in hurting my pride?"

She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. He slipped an arm around her waist and drew her to him.

"I really can't stay," she whispered, leaning her forehead against his chin.

"Oh baby, don't hold out."

"Oh, but—." She pulled back and looked up at him.

"It's cold outside," he said.

He began to move his feet but it took her a moment to realize that they were dancing. She laid her head on his chest. His arm was heavy around her waist. She could feel his thumb caressing the small of her back.

"I simply must go," she sighed.

"But baby, it's cold outside."

"The answer is no."

He huffed warm laughter into her ear. "Baby, it's cold outside," he said again.

She stepped out of his arms.

"Your welcome has been—."

"So lucky that you dropped in."

He circled around her, trailing his fingers across the fabric of her tunic to the exposed flesh on her collarbone.

"So nice. And. Warm," she said.

With his hands on her shoulders, he turned her toward the window. The storm raged white and black and wet. Kirk's breath was hot against the back of her neck. He pressed the flat of his hand against her belly. The fingers of his other hand toyed with the zipper at her shoulder.

"Look out the window. Look at that storm," he said.

"My sister will be suspicious."

"Gosh your lips look delicious," he said. He dipped his head and kissed her, just the barest brush of his lips on hers.

"My brother will be there at the door."

"Waves upon a tropical shore," he said, lightly nuzzling across her cheek and down her neck.

"My maiden aunt's mind is just vicious." The light scratch of his chin on her neck made her shiver.

He tightened his arms around her. Her tunic hiked up high on her thighs.

"Yes, your lips are delicious," he said.

He kissed her, deeply, long enough for her knees to go weak.

"Well, maybe just a little while more," she said.

"I never saw such a blizzard before," said Kirk, the Iowa farm boy.


Uhura lay back on the couch and tried to catch her breath. Kirk had freed her breasts from her tunic. He held them between his hands and tongued from nipple to nipple. His fingers were wet. How he managed to get beneath her briefs and her tights without removing them, she still hadn't figured out. His sweater was in a bundle on the floor, the fastener on his pants undone. A breath of pubic hair peeked above the waistband of his black briefs. She pushed gently at his shoulders.

"I simply must go," she whispered.

"But baby, you'd freeze out there," he said. He sat back on his hunches and looked out the window.

She propped herself on her elbows. "Say, lend me a comb."

"It's up to your knees out there," he said, bending to kiss her knee.

"You've really been—."

She gripped the hand that he slid from her knee to the inside of her thigh.

"I thrill when you touch my…hand," he said.

He brought her fingers to his lips. He stretched out on top of her again.

"But don't you see."

She leaned up and caught his lower lip between her teeth.

"How can you do. This thing. To me," murmured.

He shifted his hips and pressed his sex against hers.

"There's bound to be talk tomorrow," she breathed into his ear.

"Will you think of my life-long sorrow?"

He tugged her tunic off her shoulders and down around her hips.

"At least there will be plenty implied."

She toed off her boots.

"If you caught pneumonia and died," he agreed.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants.

"I really can't stay," she said, shimmying out of her tights and briefs. "Oh but it's--."

"Cold," said Kirk, kicking his shorts off his ankle.

"Out--," she sighed.

"Side," he gasped.


Sunday, December 14, 2008

Prodigal Soul-- Chapter 5

Finally another chapter! You can read the first part here and chapter four here.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters. All creative content, plot, original characters belong to me.

The Prodigal Soul

Author's note: Plak`matya is derived from the Vulcan words plak, meaning blood and matya, meaning feral animal. Vulcans do not claim what Terrans would call a ‘vampire’ in their mythology. Vulcans do not admit to much of a mythology at all.

Summary: Brotherhood, friendship, love and a vampire.


When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows.


I have shot mine arrow o'er the house,
And hurt my brother.

--William Shakespeare “Hamlet”


~In the Walls

Vulcan engineering was a both a blessing and a curse to Suvan. Even after two millennia, the stones that built the castle’s interior walls were still joined seamlessly, admitting no light and very little air into the maze of passageways behind them. Secret doors remained secret, perfectly balanced, disappearing into the walls and floors, completely invisible if one did not know of their existence. There were chambers and chutes, stairs and trapdoors; and in the old nursery, a cradle hidden behind the wall was attached to rails and counterbalances that could whisk a child up five stories to the keep or drop him quickly down into the depths beneath the castle. There were also blind alleys and traps that could leave an enemy searching for an exit until he either starved or fell to his death down shafts dug deep into the mountain.

Maps detailing this intricate system were meticulously filed away in the castle library, deep in the clan archives, seen only by one set of Vulcan eyes in a thousand years.

Suvan watched the Enterprise party carefully as they walked to the Great Hall. Interestingly, there was a Vulcan youth with them. He blinked in surprise at the formality with which Stonn greeted the Vulcan. Was this the son of Sarek? Surely this boy was far too young to be an officer in the Starfleet, let alone old enough to leave the house of his father. Sarek would never allow it. But upon closer inspection, the boy’s resemblance to T’Pau was unmistakable and his accent held the refined lilt of L’langon Mountain clan nobility. Suvan heard the blue-eyed human call him “Spock”. Grief tightened Suvan’s heart. This was the son of his brother’s son. Yet another child named, grown and gone while Suvan slept in his exile. Well, half-grown at any rate.

Suvan returned his attention to the humans. They were fascinating. Aside from his brief glimpses of she who was Sarek’s wife, Suvan had no opportunity to observe them. And Amanda was so self-contained to be as nearly Vulcan in her bearing. There was one book about Terrans in the palace library, a slim volume with perfunctory descriptions of human physiology, culture and history and that, hardly enough information to warrant publication as a journal article. There were no details about their technology except one sentence on the last page about a person called Zephram Cochrane that, were it not written by a Vulcan, Suvan would have thought it condescending. There was however, some detail about a contemporary of Cochrane, an engineer named Lily Sloane. Surprisingly, there was also a long paragraph about a comestible called “chocolate”.

The Starfleet party entered the Great Hall. Suvan did not dare to linger. He was confident that he would not be discovered--these passages were built to conceal--but he had taken too many risks, and the intelligent and empathic Golan was already uneasy. At any rate, Suvan was tired, still weakened from the effects of his Awakening. He sought succor in what small animals he could capture during his short forays to the other side of the mountain, but they provided meager sustenance. He needed to feed on much larger prey tonight and that meant hunting in the open desert.

The very thought of the hunt wearied him. Even the smallest of prey animals on Vulcan were difficult to catch. The night before, he saw a small herd of jarel picking delicately up the mountain side. At only twenty kilos they were fast and still dangerous, their small sharp horns and spurred hooves, deadly. But he needed blood before his hunger grew beyond the tenuous control with which he held it in check.

The need. The hunger. It would burn in him hot as the molten rivers of T’Khut--the blind madness of pon farr a trifling, childhood fever in comparison.

Suvan rose to his feet in the passageway. The dog


looked back at him one last time before disappearing into the Great Hall with the others. Suvan inspected the scrape on his elbow. He caught a tiny drop of blood on a fingertip and brought it to his mouth. It burned his lips and tongue. His breath hitched in his chest. His penis hardened. His eyes flared amber in the darkness.

“My heart is flame,” he whispered.


Sunday, December 07, 2008

Banana 1996-2008

My champion. My best friend.